


A Touch of Lightfic

by VagrantWriter



Series: Reader Requests [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bullying, Christmas Party, Comfort, F/M, Fanart, Fat Shaming, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Love Triangles, M/M, PDA, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Personality Swap, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predicament Bondage, Selkies, Threesome - M/M/M, Underwater Blow Jobs, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy reader requests.</p><p>Ch. 1 Honeyed: Theon's fondness for sweets is catching up with him, but Robb doesn't particularly mind.<br/>Ch. 2 Snide: Theon and Jon have swapped personalities.<br/>Ch. 3 Bound: Robb and Theon's relationship experiences a kinky malfunction.<br/>Ch. 4 Kind: Jeyne tries to repay Theon.<br/>Ch. 5 Found: Theon is a selkie and Robb has a dilemma.<br/>Ch. 6 Hushed: Jon really wishes Theon would just. Shut. Up.<br/>Ch. 7 Wounded: Theon puts on a brave face for Robb.<br/>Ch. 8 Bullied: Pod has had it up to here with Theon's...crap.<br/>Ch. 9 Stolen: Robb has his hands full with wilding!Theon.<br/>Ch. 10 Brought: Theon investigates Jon's plus-one at the Stark Christmas party.<br/>Ch. 11 Spoken: Robb is suspicious of Jon and Theon's newfound camaraderie.<br/>Ch. 12 (Un)Planned: Robb plans a romantic dinner for Theon.<br/>Ch. 13 Lulled: Theon receives unexpected kindness after one of Ramsay's punishments.<br/>Ch. 14 Hounded: Theon might be a bit jealous of Greywind.<br/>Ch. 15 Together: A double-date goes wrong in the most precious way.<br/>Ch. 16 (Un)Decided: Robb struggles with what to do next.<br/>Ch. 17 Enthralled: Robb and Theon want each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honeyed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a quick update to get this thing started. 
> 
> I actually found this in my files from some time ago, and seeing as it's a fill for this [prompt](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22515.html?thread=15912691#t15912691), I thought I'd use it as a jumping off point for any fluffy requests. 
> 
> _Theon/Any: erotic weight gain_

“Sorry.” Robb winced. He hadn’t meant to hit Theon that hard. He hadn’t meant to hit Theon at all. The other boy should have been able to get out of the way of his sword in time; it would have been an easy blow to avoid. But Theon hadn’t gotten out of the way, and now he was sprawled out on the ground and some of the other men had turned to see what all the yelping was about.

“No need to apologize,” Rodrik Cassel said, grabbing Theon by the scruff of his shirt and hauling him back to his feet. “Lord Greyjoy here has gotten slow.”

“Have not,” Theon argued, rubbing his arm where Robb had struck him. He kept his eyes trained on the dirt he’d been dragged from, avoiding the faces of the men who were also sparring in the courtyard and especially the serving girls who often sat on the sidelines and watched. Their tittering must be very loud in his ears, because his face was quickly becoming an angry red.

“Oh yes you have,” Rodrik said, “and I reckon it has more than a little to do with all those sweets you’ve been pilfering from the kitchen lately.”

Theon glanced up in surprise. “I haven’t—”

“Aye, didn’t think I knew about that, eh? I know the pretty little thing you’ve been seeing gives you plenty of sweeties. Just like a courted maid, you are.” The men chuckled, the girls giggled, and Robb felt sour in his stomach for some reason he couldn’t name. “All those sweeties from your lady love, they’ve made you fat and slow.”

“I am _not_ fat.” Theon tried to squirm out of Rodrik’s grasp, but the master at arms just held tight.

“Are you sure about that, lad?” One hand still on the collar, he grasped the front of Theon’s jerkin and pulled it up enough to reveal the pale expanse of skin beneath. Theon had always had a flat stomach and narrow hips. He wasn’t looking so flat today, though. It would be a lie for Robb to say he hadn’t noticed how Theon had been gathering hints of weight in his face, in his neck, in his stomach and thighs when they bathed together. It was a bit jarring to see how his stomach now bulged over too-tightly-laced breeches, like bread rising over the lip of a pan. “Aye,” Rodrik chuckled, giving a firm slap to the soft middle, “you’ve a great big squid belly, you have.”

Theon wrenched out of Rodrik’s grasp and yanked his shirt down, but the damage had already been done. A chorus of mirthful snickers filled the courtyard, and Theon’s face grew from red to purple. Robb wanted to tell Theon that is was just playful laughter, a bit of good-natured jabbing, but Theon was already running from the courtyard.

 

***

 

Theon didn’t come down for dinner, which was troubling. He wasn’t a huge eater, but he was never one to skip out on an opportunity to flirt with the kitchen maids. Robb hoped he wasn’t still stewing over what Rodrik had said that afternoon. He asked to be excused to his room and left carrying a tray with Theon’s dinner.

“Go away,” was the answer he received when he knocked on Theon’s door.

“I brought your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is. Go away.”

Robb sighed and shifted the tray in his hands. “I know you’re upset about what happened in the courtyard, but starving yourself isn’t going to help anything. That’ll only make you weaker.”

Silence from inside.

“You really just need to cut back on the sweets, alright?”

“Shut up. I’m not fat.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just meant…” Robb huffed and leaned his shoulder against the door. It began to creak open—Theon wasn’t allowed to have a bolt on his door since Ned had discovered he’d been having girls up to his room. Theon pushed from the inside, knocking Robb back and slamming the door closed with a resolute slam. “Open up.”

“No.”

“Remind me, how much older are you than me?”

There was no response, but Robb didn’t expect one.

“Then why are you the one acting like a petulant child?”

The door slowly swung open of its own accord. Robb pushed in, holding the tray out to tempt Theon, but the other boy had his back turned as he came in. “I’m not fat,” he heard mumbled.

“You’re not fat,” Robb agreed, setting the tray on the table and lifting the lid. The smell of meat and yeast filled the air. “I brought you a little bit of everything,” he explained as he rearranged the food to make it as appetizing as possible. He set the honey cakes front and center, because even though Theon really shouldn’t be eating any more sweets, Robb knew how much he liked them. “Come here and eat something, would y—”

He turned at the rustling noise of cloth and turned to find Theon had pulled his shirt over his head. He wadded the thing up and tossed it to the corner and stood shirtless before Robb, pale and soft and bordering on pudgy. “You don’t think I’m fat, do you, Robb?” The swell of his belly was even more noticeable as he unlaced his overly tight breeches—they left a line of red where they had been cutting into his flesh all day.

He was fat. Or threatening to become fat, at the very least. But it wasn’t enough to make him…unappealing. He still had the same dark features, the carriage in his shoulders. Only now his lines weren’t so defined, his build less compact. Though, strangely, the new softness made it look like someone had whittled down the hard planes of his body, leaving something young and fresh beneath. Something defenseless.

Robb swallowed hard. “You’re beautiful.”

Theon gaped and Robb immediately regretted saying that.

A moment of awkward silence passed, then Theon clamped his jaw shut, threw his hands over his stomach and chest like a maid protecting her modesty, and turned his back. “Don’t play with me, Stark,” he muttered darkly. “I was being serious.”

Robb shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He hadn’t meant to say that. Or, at least, he hadn’t meant to say it like _that_.

“I’m sorry. I was only trying to make you feel better,” he lied. “I just meant…I’m sure the serving girls still find you attractive. You’re an attractive man, after all.” It made his throat prickle to talk about the serving girls, but he hoped that would ameliorate his mistake.

Theon sighed. “This is all Marged’s fault. She’s always…feeding me.” He bent down to grab his shirt.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t see Marged anymore.” Robb hurried over and pulled the shirt out of Theon’s hands before he could start dressing again. He didn’t want Theon dressing. “Alright, I’ll make it official. As a Stark of Winterfell, I forbid you to see Marged anymore. From now on, if you get any sweets, you’ll be getting them from me.”

Theon glowered darkly, though whether it was from being commanded or not being able to dress, Robb couldn’t tell. He opened his mouth to say something, but his stomach spoke first. A loud gurgling filled the strained silence between them. Theon’s scowl fell away, replaced by the same reddening shame Robb had seen in the courtyard.

“I knew it.” Robb hurried over to the tray. The food had begun to cool, but judging by the noises from Theon’s gut, he wasn’t too picky this evening. “You _are_ hungry. Now come over here and eat something. I’m not leaving until you do.”

With a heavy sigh, Theon folded his arms over his chest and scooted to the bed, where he curled in on himself, concealing his belly with his legs. Of course, that only served to emphasize how fleshly his thighs were as they strained against the seams of his breeches. “Fine. Whatever. Feed me as you see fit, Lord Stark.”

His words were barbed, mocking, and yet somehow Robb found himself growing warm and lightheaded. “Very well. I will.” He took a cake and came over to the bed, one hand held out to catch the dripping honey. It pooled in the palm of his hand, warm and sticky.

Theon gave him a dubious look.

“You said to feed you as I saw fit. Well…this is what I want you to eat.”

“Are you trying to make me fatter?”

Robb had to sit on the bed, because he suddenly felt too dizzy to stand. “I know you like them.” He took his honey-drizzled hand and swiped his thumb along Theon’s bottom lip. He watched, mesmerized, as Theon’s tongue poked out to catch the honey, saw the way his eyelids became heavy as the sweetness overtook him. He smiled vindictively. “Are you really going to fight me on this?”

Theon looked longingly at the cake. “Do you want me to eat it out of your hand like a dog?”

_Yes_. “My hands are already sticky. No need for you to get dirty too.”

He brought the cake to Theon’s mouth, and Theon took a small bite. The cake practically crumbled away, and the honey from the center dribbled down over the side of Robb’s hand and onto Theon’s chest.

“Here, hurry up and finish it,” Robb said, stuffing the rest of the cake in before Theon could protest. He leaned over and, without thinking, ran his tongue along the line of honey. It was sweet, of course, but also salty with the taste of Theon’s skin.

“What are you doing?”

“Not letting perfectly good honey go to waste,” Robb said simply. He gave Theon a gentle push, and the other boy collapsed back onto the bed, uncurling, becoming like melted honey himself. His belly was not so obvious lying down, but it was still there, soft and exposed, obscene, like in some of the picture books Theon had shown him of ladies spreading their legs open. Unlike some of the other boys his age, Theon was fairly smooth, and Robb’s tongue glided over his stomach and chest as he caught the remnants of honey.

“Stop.”

Robb did, abruptly. Terrified that he’d done something very, very wrong.

“Don’t get your sticky hands all over my bed.” Theon propped himself up on his elbows, took Robb’s honey-covered hand, and lapped slowly at the palm. His eyes were closed as he did so, blissfully. When he had licked every last bit of honey from the palm, he began on the fingers, first taking the index finger into his mouth and wrapping his lips around it.

Suddenly it felt like Robb was the one with too-tight pants. He swallowed the hitching of his breath and watched as Theon worked. This was weird. This definitely wasn’t something two boys should be doing, let alone boys who were as good as brothers.

Theon finished and opened his eyes. His pupils were large, his eyelids heavy. He looked satisfied in a way that Robb didn’t really understand. It was just a honey cake, right?

“Shall I get you another one?”

Theon nodded.

Robb smiled and scooted from the bed. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to bring the tray over. Theon continued to lie on his back, and Robb wriggled his way beside him, next cake in hand. “So, we understand?” he said, withholding the treat when Theon went for it. “No more sweets from Marged.”

“Only you,” Theon agreed.

“Good.” He rewarded the other boy.

Theon groaned as he chewed the next bit, and Robb was beginning to think he should really do something about the tightness in his pants. Not here, though, not now. Maester Luwen said that it was natural for boys his age to have strange reactions like that, sometimes due to nothing at all.

Instead, he watched as Theon took every bite out of his hand, eventually moving on from the cakes to the chicken. The boy was ravenous, and it hurt Robb to think he’d been hiding up here, deliberately starving himself over some misplaced vanity. Didn’t he know that there wasn’t a thing he could do to make himself unattractive in Robb’s eyes? Didn’t he know that he would always be beautiful?

As Robb continued to feed him, a strange image came to him, one he could not shake off. Theon, large, as big as King Robert, as big as Wyman Manderly, too fat to even get up from bed, but too happy and too well-fed to even want to. Too content to simply lie back and allow Robb to feed him. To lie back, unguarded and open and unresisting…

“I…need to go,” Robb said quickly, jumping up from the bed.

Theon gave him a quizzical look.

“I…I need to…I forgot something.” He hurried to the door. “Finish eating. You can take the tray down to the kitchens when you’re done.” _No, then he might see_ Marged _again_. “I mean, I’ll come get it. I just…I need to…take care of something.” He rushed from the room, pants straining.


	2. Snide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FruitLuips asked for a Theon/Jon fic: 
> 
> _Where Jon is the bully/mean one and Theon is the silent brooding one._

After dinner, Ned took him aside and, with a hand on his shoulder, said, “I think, perhaps, you should apologize to him.”

Jon wrinkled his nose in distaste. “What? No. I’m not apologizing to him. He’s our prisoner.”

“Our _guest_ ,” Ned corrected. “You are to treat him as such.”

Jon didn’t feel like apologizing, but he felt even less like arguing with his father. There was just something about the look of disappointment on Lord Stark’s face whenever he found Jon had been acting out, acting like the bastard he was.

He made his way up to Greyjoy’s room, pondering his father’s words. Guest. What a joke. Greyjoy was their hostage and prisoner, and no amount of fancy clothes or nice living quarters was going to change the fact that they could take his head whenever they needed. To Jon, it seemed infinitely crueler to dress it up as him being their “guest” or “ward,” far crueler than anything he’d ever said to the older boy. Still, if he must apologize to be rid of his father’s overbearing guilt, he’d do it.

He knocked on Theon’s door. No answer, but he hadn’t expected any. Theon had always kept to himself, ever since he’d come to Winterfell, almost as far back as Jon could remember. Robb had tried to reach out to him on a number of occasions, but even Robb’s saintly patience had reached its end after years of cold to slightly tepid treatment. The boy could hardly be moved to talk about anything. Indeed, he didn’t seem to care about anything beyond his bow and arrow, which he spent hours practicing alone in the courtyard.

Jon huffed and thought that if he’d been born a highborn lord, he wouldn’t mope about all day. But he hadn’t, as Lady Stark liked to remind him. He was a bastard. Without honor. Without morals. Unwanted.

He knocked again, more urgently.

The door opened a crack and one of Theon’s large kicked-puppy-dog eyes peered out at him. “What do you want?”

“I wanted…” Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier.”

Theon was silent for a moment. “Alright.”

The door began to close again, and Jon had to hurry to jam his foot in the crack to keep it open.

“Alright?” he repeated back. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“‘I forgive you’?” Jon hazarded. “At least give me something so that I can tell my father that things have been patched up between us.”

Another moment of unnerving silence. “Is that why you came to apologize?”

“Yes,” Jon answered truthfully.

“I thought as much.” The door opened slightly wider. Theon was wearing an inappropriately nice doublet, the kind usually reserved for feasts with visiting lords and the like. He also had an inordinate amount of gold chains around his neck, which he seemed self-conscious of when he caught Jon staring. “I was…I like getting dressed up.”

_Like a maid_ , Jon thought, but held it back.

“It makes me feel more like a guest than a…”

“Than a hostage,” Jon said.

Theon clutched his chains so tightly, Jon thought they might snap right off his neck. “If I forgive you, will you leave? And not tell anyone about this?”

“Alright, fine. If you’ll forgive me for joking about you losing your head.”

Theon turned as white as when Jon had made the quip at dinner. “I…yes, I forgive you.” It was obvious he didn’t, but it was obvious that Jon was really apologizing either. “Can you leave me alone now? I’m sure your father’s waiting for you.”

He made to close the door again, but this time Jon elbowed his way in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re here on his account, aren’t you?”

Jon glowered. “I don’t live to please my father, you know.” He didn’t know why it was important for Theon to know that, but it was.

Theon glowered back. “Of course you do. Everyone in Winterfell can see the way you follow him, hoping he’ll throw you some of Robb’s scraps—”

Jon didn’t even realize he’d punched the other boy until he felt the stinging in his knuckles, saw Theon wiping the blood from his lip. He was a little surprised at himself. So little self-control—another thing Lady Stark was right about. “You shut up,” he spat, “and mind your place.”

“I’ll mind mine when you mind yours.” Theon gathered himself to his full height, and being older, he was taller than Jon. “If I struck you back right now, do you think anyone would care? Would I get punished for hitting the Bastard of Winterfell?”

“Go on then,” Jon said.

Theon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hit me.” Jon took a step closer, fully prepared to throw another punch. “Hit me like a man. Or are you too much a girl with all your gold and fine dresses?”

Theo’s nostrils flared. Jon was rearing for a fight. Lady Stark had been on him about his behavior, Lord Stark had been on him about his behavior, even Robb had been on him about his behavior. Why were they all so surprised that a bastard would act like a bastard, especially when that was all they ever expected of him? But Theon…he didn’t have to take Greyjoy’s shit.

To his disappointment, instead of striking out, Theon turned and began slipping the gold chains from around his neck, fumbling in his hurry. “I don’t need these,” he muttered. “They’re too heavy anyway.”

“You look ridiculous,” Jon agreed. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe he could provoke Greyjoy into a proper fight yet.

Theon threw the chains to the ground and began unlacing his doublet. “All of this…all of it…”

“What…are you doing?” Jon asked in alarm.

Theon’s hands stopped. “Get out,” he hissed.

“What?” Jon wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m—”

“I want you out. Out now!” Suddenly, he was flinging himself as Jon, shoving him so hard that he staggered backwards until he hit the wall. “You’re not a Stark. You don’t get _any_ say in whether I live or die.”

“I don’t—”

“You’re _nobody_!” Theon interrupted. “You’re _nothing_! That’s why you’re always teasing me, right? Because you know that you’re worthless, and you know teasing me is the only way you can get _anyone_ to care about you.”

Jon was struck completely dumb. He had expected the lashing out. He knew from experience that a man could only take so much. But he hadn’t expected Greyjoy to be so…vicious. It didn’t fit in at all with the boy’s shy, quiet, brooding demeanor. And as Jon looked at him now, he saw the other boy’s anger quickly fade away into horror.

“I…perhaps I went too far,” he murmured, more to himself, it seemed. He backed away. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t fair. How could he _do_ that? Just…cut Jon’s indignant rage out from under him like that? Who did he think he was, hiding himself away in his room with his gold and his bow and arrows, and why did the Starks _let_ him? Why did _he_ get to ignore reality while Jon…?

“No, you’re…um, you’re right,” Jon sighed. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave now. I’m sorry.” And the thing was, he actually meant it this time, much to his horror. He was done provoking Theon, perhaps even done making snide remarks about his hostage status. Right now, he didn’t ever want to see the boy ever again.

He turned to go, but Theon grabbed hold of his elbow. Their eyes met, and Jon had the strangest notion, that he’d been needlessly cruel to this boy who was as much an outsider in Winterfell as he was, that he’d spent all these years attacking a potential ally. It made him sick to his stomach and he pulled out of Greyjoy’s grasp.

“I’ll tell Father everything went well,” he said.

Theon nodded. “And you won’t…?”

“Not a word,” Jon agreed. “And you…?”

“Not a word,” Theon agreed back.

They held each other’s gaze far longer than was strictly necessary. Perhaps it was Jon’s imagination, but a sort of understanding passed between them, a sort of truce. But then the moment was gone and Jon pulled free of Theon’s grasp and hurried on his way to tell his father that he’d made up with the Greyjoy hostage and all was well with the world.


	3. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calamidad offered this prompt:
> 
>  _Calamidad: "I thought YOU had the key!"_  
>  OR:  
> They try something to spice up their love life. The experiment goes hilariously awry (not tragically!). Despite all the embarrassment (locksmith?/ER staff?/an innocent third party who just wanted to help and never expected to see THAT), their relationship survives and so does their love life. Who knows, they might be able to laugh about it someday. XD  
> OK, probably not :| But at least they get a good story out of it.
> 
> The contraption in question is something like [this](https://www.extremerestraints.com/bondage-gear_10/easy-access-neoprene-restraint-system_750.html). (Warning! Super NSFW!)

Gendry knocked once, twice. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing at Arya’s brother’s house at eleven o’clock at night. He’d met the guy—and his boyfriend—a couple times at Mr. and Mrs. Stark’s house, they’d gone our drinking once or twice. But when he’d seen the name on his caller ID, he had not expected to hear Robb, sounding nearly out of breath, say, “Gendry, I know it’s late, but I need a favor. Do you have a pair of bolt cutters?”

So here he was with his bolt cutters, and there Robb was with his pajama bottoms and bathrobe. A look of relief passed over his face as he opened the door. Gendry handed the cutters over, and Robb took them with a grateful nod. “It will only take a moment,” he said. “You can come in and wait.”

Gendry obliged and sat on the sofa in the living room while Robb, bafflingly, hurried into the master bedroom armed with the cutters. The door closed behind him, but that didn’t stop the voices coming through the wall, loud enough that Gendry could hear.

“Here, this should do it.” That was Robb.

“Thank God.” That was Robb’s boyfriend, Theon. Gendry knew next to nothing about him except that he was a “bad influence on Robb,” according to Mrs. Stark, and “kind of an ass,” according to Arya. “Hurry up. My arms feel like they’re about to fall off.”

That worried Gendry. Was Theon stuck? Did Robb need to cut him free? If that was the case, he probably should have called emergency services instead.

A moment later, he heard Robb grunting. “Shit!”

“For God’s sake,” Theon said, “put some effort into it.”

“I’m trying! It’s a lot harder than I thought.”

“Then try a different spot.”

“Okay, this might work…um, do you think you could you maybe flip over?”

“I can try.”

_What on Earth…?_

More grunting.

“Okay, hurry up.”

More grunting.

“Hurry up, Robb. I can’t hold this position forever.”

“I’m trying! It’s too big to fit in there.”

Gendry realized he was listening to something he really shouldn’t. He picked up one of the home decorating magazines on the coffee table and began flipping through it to distract himself. It didn’t work too well, because a split second later, Theon was yelping, “Ah, ah, ah! Stop, stop!”

“Oh geez, I’m sorry,” Robb said. “Maybe I should…get Gendry?”

“Gendry?” Theon asked. “You mean he’s still here?”

“He’s in the living room.”

“Shit, why would you invite Arya’s boyfriend into our living room now of all times?”

“I thought it would only take a minute, and I couldn’t leave him standing out in the rain.” There was some rustling from inside the bedroom. “He’s a mechanic. I’m sure he’s cut through tougher things.”

“But—”

“We’ll swear him to secrecy,” Robb continued. “It’s either this or I call the fire department and they send a whole team over.”

Silence for a moment.

“Alright, but could you at least…cover me up?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gendry pretended he was reading the magazine and had not heard anything when the bedroom door opened and Robb stepped out.

“Gendry…I could use a hand in here.”

“Uh…sure,” Gendry replied, standing.

“I should probably warn you first…” Robb drummed his fingers on the doorknob. “You might see some things. Some…sexual things.”

Gendry nodded. He’d expected as much. “I won’t tell a soul.”

He made his way in, bracing himself. His tastes had always run a little vanilla, so he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d see. Certainly he hadn’t expected to see Theon face-first on the mattress, ass in the air, wrists cuffed between his ankles to a spreader bar. Thanks Gods— _thank Gods!_ —he was wearing a makeshift loincloth made of what looked to be a bedsheet. He smiled cheekily at Gendry, who thought he might never be able to look the man in the eyes again. “Thanks for coming over,” Theon said. “I’d stand up to greet you, but…”

Gendry looked from Theon to Robb, the latter of whom had gone very red. “This is what you needed my bolt cutters for, I take it?”

“We, uh…lost the key,” Robb said.

“ _You_ lost the key,” Theon argued. “How could I possibly lose the key with my hands the way they are now?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to spice up our sex life,” Robb argued _back_. “If you’d just let me go to a reputable website, we could have gotten something with fail safes.” He turned to Gendry. “Back me up here. Most reputable sex shops sell restraints with Velcro or something, right?”

“Uh…” Gendry said.

“Fine, fine, I admit it,” Theon said. “I fucked up. Now, could you please cut me free? I can hardly feel my fingers anymore.”

Working together, Robb and Gendry were able to cut some of the weaker parts where the cuffs were welded onto the spreader bar. Theon sprawled out onto the mattress with a relieved sigh. Gendry didn’t want to think about how long they’d waited to call him. Theon would definitely be feeling their kinky adventure tomorrow, though probably not in the way he’d planned.

“Thanks,” Robb said, handing the bolt cutters back. “Sorry again to bother you.”

“No, it’s…” Not fine, not really. How was he supposed to act around them now whenever they met at the Starks’ house? How was he supposed to face _Arya_ tomorrow? “Fine.”

Theon sat up, the bedsheets riding dangerously up his thighs. Gendry turned away quickly. He didn’t want to see anymore. Not the half-empty bottle of lube on the nightstand or the ball gag on the pillow or that unidentifiable lacy thing hanging from the bedpost.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a hacksaw,” Theon said, “or something we could use to get these cuffs off, huh?”

“No, sorry,” Gendry lied, hurrying from the room. “I’m afraid you’ll have to call the professionals to handle it from here.” _This is so above my paygrade as a boyfriend_.


	4. Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nonny said: 
> 
> _I'd love to read a one-shot where Jeyne and Theon have escaped from Ramsay and Stannis is disgusted by Theon's smell so he orders him to be cleaned up but Theon is too traumatized to let handmaidens do it so Jeyne offers since she is the only one he trusts and basically she bathes him and cleans/brushes his hair and comforts him during the whole thing._
> 
> Oh my gosh, these two babies... *cries*

Jeyne ran her fingers through the water. It was tepid, at best. Stannis wanted Theon clean, but he didn’t want to waste the wood to start a fire to warm the bath. “I’m sorry,” she said as water droplets fell from her fingertips. “It’s not very warm.”

“It’s fine.” Theon rocked from foot to foot. He hadn’t made any move to undress, and she couldn’t blame it. “It’s more than I deserve.”

She felt tears well up in her eyes, like they so often did. It was like they were trying to cry away all the images she’d seen during her time as Lady Bolton. She brushed them away quickly; the tepid water stung her eyes. “Could you please not talk like that?” she begged.

“Sorry.” He hung his head and continued to shuffle his feet.

“I’m going to turn away while you undress. If…if you want to try to bathe yourself, I think you should.” Her eyes went automatically to his hands. He was missing four fingers. His grip around her had been so tight when they leapt from the battlements, when they’d flown, but now she had doubts that he could even hold a cloth to clean himself properly. “Call me when…if you need help.”

Theon nodded in gratitude. He’d begged and pleaded when Stannis had order the filth washed from him, and when Stannis had told him to stop his womanish blubbering and act like a man, Theon had begun crying so hard that they’d finally had to fetch her to calm him down. They had meant to strike fear into him, using her as an intimidating tactic.

Never. They had agreed, via some unspoken rule, that they would never be used as weapons against each other again. They had hugged, clung to each other tightly. Jeyne had wiped the tears from his face, and he had stroked the back of her head. Instead of ordering him to follow Stannis’s orders, she’d offered to bathe him herself. To seven hells with Stannis’s objections.

It was better this way, she thought as she sat with her back turned towards the tub. She could hear the soft rustling of clothes as Theon undressed, clumsily. She kept her gaze focused on the stones of the floor, determined not to turn around under any circumstances. Unless he asked. It was difficult. She so wanted to go to him and help him. There was something about helping him that took her mind off her own pain, even if just for a little bit.

Her resolve crumbled when she heard a clang and a thud, and she whirled to find Theon on the floor, curled in on himself. She rushed to his side. “Theon, are you—?”

“I…I tripped,” he muttered. He would not look at her.

“Here, let me help you.” She pulled one of his stick-thin arms around her neck and helped him to his feet. He didn’t protest. She kept her gaze steadfastly on his foot as she lifted it up and over the lip of the tub; she would not look between his legs. She had no desire to see and he had no desire to be seen. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself so she could get his second leg into the tub as well. It was even more difficult not to look this time, but she persevered, and when she was done, he sank down into the tub and pulled his knees up to cover himself.

“Thank you.”

“It’s fine.” She reached for the cleaning cloth, since he seemed to not want to abandon his position of relative cover. “Do you mind if I…start with your back?”

He was silent for a moment. “You don’t need to do that.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “Do you…not want me to?” Maybe, after enough time had passed, she’d be able to string together a sentence without hesitating.

“You don’t need to help me,” he said.

“I want to.” There. Short, but no hesitation. She dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out, and began scrubbing it gently along his shoulder. He flinched but quickly caught himself and held still. “Is it…alright?” The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. Actually, there were probably a few things she wanted less than that, if she were being honest with herself.

“You don’t need to help me,” he repeated.

“You helped me.”

He shook his head. “I helped myself. I didn’t…did you forget those months where Ramsay was torturing you and I did _nothing_?”

The hand holding the cloth stilled. “No.” _Of course not. I_ wish _I could forget_.

“I helped you because I made a deal with the spear wives.”

The spear wives? Was that who those women were? The women who had died trying to get her out of Winterfell?

“If anything went wrong, they were supposed to kill me.” He shuddered. “Things went wrong. The fact that we both escaped with our lives was a fluke.”

Again, Jeyne didn’t know what to say.

“So, please…” He lifted his eyes. “Please don’t feel like you…owe me anything. I should have helped you…much sooner. A better man would have.”

She clutched the cloth tightly. “But _you’re_ the one who got me out,” she said, “in the end. Not the…spear wives. Not Stannis. Not any of these men who are supposedly so loyal to the Starks. It was you. You and me…we’re the ones who flew together. And you…Gods willing, if our positions were reversed, I…” She couldn’t put it in to words. How she had hated him for a while, wondering why he wouldn’t sweep her out of the nightmare of her life, like the knights in the stories. Until she’d realized…she’d realized he could no more save her than he could save himself, than _she_ could save _herself_. “You didn’t leave me behind.”

He looked at her in horror. “Of _course_ not.”

“And I want to thank you for it.” She wrung out the cloth again, angrily this time. “Maybe I’m…not doing this for you, alright?” It was a lie and a not-lie at the same time. “Maybe I’m doing this for me, the way you saved me to save yourself.”

He was silent again, for so long that she took the cloth to his back and gently began rubbing away the caked on filth. He allowed it this time, without protest. Jeyne winced whenever he winced, whenever she scrubbed too hard, only to reveal flayed flesh under the grime, or whip marks. Her own body was marked and scarred and would likely never fully heal. Given enough time with her new husband, would she have looked like this one day, thin beyond thin and battered into something hardly recognizable as human?

“We should wash your hair before the water gets too dirty,” she commented, her voice remarkably level to her own ears.

Theon nodded and ducked his head under the water. His white hair billowed out about his face, brittle as seaweed. He stayed down there a long time. So long that the ripples stilled. So long that bubbles stopped escaping through his semi-parted lips. So long that Jeyne began to panic. _No, don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me alone, please, please, I’m scared, I still need you—_

He broke to the surface with a deep gasp. She let out a breath.

“I was communing,” he said, as if sensing her panic.

 She made a small noise of agreement and began running her hands through the lanky strands of his hair, massaging away the dirt and filth. “With who?” Clumps of his hair came away at her touch. She didn’t flinch at it.

Theon contemplated the water. It was so dirty now that he didn’t need to sit with his knees up to cover himself. “No one,” he answered at last. “No one who was there, anyway.”

She continued to work at his hair. When it was close enough to be considered clean, he had several bald patches, but she could probably hide them with a bit of clever brushing. She looked at his face, what she could see of it from this angle. Somehow, she’d hoped that the bath would wash away the Reek from him, turn him into the handsome and cocky boy she’d known growing up in Winterfell. But it hadn’t. Not really. That boy was gone. That girl was gone.

She wiped away a tear with the palm of her hand. “You’re looking much better already,” she said.


	5. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A two-fer today.
> 
> SabrinaC asked for an AU where: 
> 
> _There is a battle between Seal People and fishermen/seal hunters that ends with the selkie prince and heir, Theon, taken as hostage by the Starks. Ned takes Theon's sealskin and hides it in a chest to prevent him coming back to the sea. So Theon is raised with Ned's children: he grows up as a vain, immature, overconfident and very promiscuous youth, but actually he has a lot of insecurities behind his cocksure arrogance and desperately longs for his free life in the ocean (basically TG in canon :P). Only Robb, four years younger than Theon but much more mature than him, and Theon's only true friend and confidant, knows this side of him. One day Robb finds the chest which contains Theon's seal skin and he has to choose between keeping the secret for not losing his friend or giving him his sealskin and his freedom back. Eventually Robb decides...but I leave the rest to you!_
> 
> And Iron_Dragon_Maiden asked for: 
> 
> _Throbb: Theon, as an ironborn, is very in tune with water. VERY in tune and unbelievably graceful in the water. Robb catches sight of him and there's a lot of under-water seduction and sex going on. Robb, naturally, can't walk for days afterwards :)_
> 
> This one-shot contains sexually explicit scenes, so NSFW.

Robb wished he’d never found the trunk. The sealskin was as sleek and soft as Theon’s hair, which Robb knew because Theon would often lean his head on Robb’s shoulder when he was drunk; he was an affectionate drunk. It smelled like him, even though Theon hadn’t worn it in…nine years? Ten? But it also smelled like salt and something else musky, what Robb imagined the ocean smelled like. He’d never seen the sea, but he could see it in his mind’s eye just from the way Theon _talked_ about it all the time.

And that was why Robb wished he hadn’t found the trunk where his father had hidden the sealskin, because he’d always vowed that if he ever did, he would do the right thing—he would return it so that Theon could return to the sea. It wasn’t right that they’d kept him here all these years, even if Ned said it was for his own good, his own protection, there were people out there who would _hurt_ a selkie if they found it. All you had to do was look into Theon’s deep, dark eyes and see how it was _already_ hurting him to be here, so far from the ocean.

Robb had sworn, and yet…

And yet…

He told himself he was just surprised at having found it, that first time. He’d only come up here looking for an old baby blanket and had been startled to find Theon’s sealskin stored away with all the Stark family memorabilia. He needed time to figure out how to break the news to Theon, after all. So he folded it back up and put it back in the chest.

That had been two weeks ago. Two weeks and he still hadn’t told his best friend.

Now wouldn’t be a good time, though. For one, they had just nearly escaped with their lives. Theon might have laughed it off, but Robb was not used to being chased with a butcher’s knife.  The man had followed them quite a distance from the tavern, yelling and hollering the whole way about how he was going to cut their balls off, even though Robb hadn’t even _touched_ his wife. And even though it had been Theon who’d pulled the barmaid into his lap, she had definitely been no innocent bystander herself, running her hands through his sleek hair, over his shoulders, down his chest. The woman didn’t know how to whisper, either, and Robb had been forced to sit there and endure their banter, which may or may not have included the phrase “my husband doesn’t” several times. Theon really knew how to pick them.

They’d left the angry husband behind some minutes ago, but they still ran. Theon’s hair flashed in the moonlight through the trees, and his laughter echoed in Robb’s ears. They followed one of the beaten deer trails through the forest, where they had played as children, even though Theon had always been older and insisted he wouldn’t join in their baby games. At least, until he’d found out that a swimming brook ran this way, then he was always following Jon and Robb out. They would roughhouse, work up a sweat, and then swim together in the cold waters, and during those times it was almost like Theon was happy with them.

It was well-known that selkies couldn’t be truly happy on land, though most people looking at Theon would say he was happy enough: He laughed freely, he smiled, he could bed almost any woman he set his eyes on with a mere look. Robb knew otherwise. He was surprised others didn’t know, didn’t see it. Even Jon didn’t really see it, but he was often wrapped up in his own private misery, so Robb couldn’t blame him. And unlike Jon, the end to Theon’s misery had a simple solution.

_If I give him back his skin, he can return to the ocean_ , he mused as they ran. _He can return to the ocean and be free, but not safe. I’m only putting this off so long because I want to protect him._

They broke into the clearing where the brook was at its widest, and only then did they stop, both breathing heavily, Theon more so. He was not a creature of the land. He still managed to laugh somehow as he started to strip off his jerkin. “We’ve lived to see another day,” he said. “This calls for a celebration. Come join me for a night swim?”

Robb leaned against a rock. “I think I’ll sit this one out, if it’s all the same to you.”

Theon shrugged, then pulled off his undershirt, boots, and finally breeches. He moved with sinuous ease, muscles taut and skin smooth. Robb wondered again how he would move in his _other_ skin. He couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than he was now as he dove from a high rock into the water without leaving so much as a ripple in his wake. Robb settled in on the bank to watch.

When Theon finally broke to the surface again, his hair was wet and plastered to his face. “Sure you won’t join me?”

Robb sighed. “Do they make you happy?”

Theon swam up to the bank, his body white under the black water. “Who?”

“The women you…court.” Robb traced a finger along the moss of the rock. “Are you happy here?”

“Happy as I can be,” Theon said with a wide grin.

“And how happy is that?”

Theon cocked his head in confusion, but the smile never went from his face.

“How happy can you be?” Robb continued. “Here? With us, I mean?”

“Are you feeling guilty?” Theon asked. “I’ve told you a thousand times before, I don’t blame you for what your father’s done. I know you would set me free if you could. You’re one of the good humans, Robb. We’re brothers, you and me.”

“Brothers,” Robb repeated.

“Come join me?” Theon splashed at the water.

Robb sighed and began stripping. He never had been able to refuse Theon anything. Well…anything he _asked_ for, at least. If he knew Robb had found his skin…

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Theon had not said a thing about the women. _Do they make you happy_? he wondered. _And do I…_ not _make you happy_? For all Theon’s talk of brotherhood, Robb would always be the son of the man who’d taken him from his home, a human just like the ones who’d hunted his kind nearly to extinction.

The night air was cold against his skin, raising goose flesh up and down his arms. He folded his clothes haphazardly over the rock then made his way to the sandy bank. The slope into the brook was gentle, so wading out was an interminable process of walking a few feet, stopping when it got too cold to continue, waiting to acclimate, and then starting over again. It took a couple extra minutes when the water was finally up to his balls. “It’s cold,” he huffed out when Theon splashed at him again to get him moving.

“That’s why you need to dive in all at once.” Theon swam closer, until his feet touched the bottom, and began wading towards Robb. Robb hoped the older boy couldn’t see where his eyes went, how they followed the crook of his hips as he emerged from the water. He had just caught a tantalizing glimpse of Theon’s manhood—seriously, were selkies immune to the cold?—when he was grabbed around the waist and pulled headlong into the deep of the brook.

It was freezing, like little needles stabbing all over his skin. The peaty water filled his nose, and he broke to the surface sputtering and floundering. By his side, he heard Theon laughing mirthfully. “You cunt!” Robb gasped, splashing Theon.

“Better not ever use that word around your mother. She’ll know who taught it to you.”

“It’s bloody freezing.”

“Then come here and I’ll warm you up.” And just like that, Theon was treading water next to him, in front of him, their noses hardly a hand’s width apart. So close that Robb could almost imagine the warmth of his body, and despite the cold, he felt himself responding to Theon’s vicinity.

With an alarmed gasp, he backed away. He didn’t want Theon getting closer and seeing, _feeling_ …

“Shh,” Theon shushed, swimming closer still. His hands moved ghostlike under the water as they trailed against Robb’s chest. “It’s alright, Robb. You think a selkie can’t smell human arousal, even in water?”

“I’m not—wait, you can smell…that? Since when?”

Theon smirked and looked up at him through his dark lashes. “Since forever, Robb.”

“Since…?” Robb’s gut twisted. His face grew warm. “Then all those times…?”

Theon nodded. His chin dipped into the water. “I knew. You’ve wanted me for a long time.”

Robb wanted to throw his hands over his face, to stop treading water and just let the brook swallow him up.

“It’s alright Robb.” Theon inched nearer still. “I want you too.”

Robb’s mouth fell open, and the river rushed in. As he sputtered even more, trying to regain his breath, his brain whirled. _Is this real? Is this a dream? Am I dying and my mind has conjured some wonderful fantasy to ease me out of the world?_ But no, that didn’t make sense, because it had all happened before he’d begun choking on water.

Something was slapping him on the back, over and over again, until he finally expelled a large gulp of water from his lungs. He kicked out with his legs and—oh, Theon had dragged him back into the shallows, where his feet could touch the ground again. “Alright?” Theon’s voice was in his ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Robb snapped. It came out harsh, along with a bit more water. He coughed and wiped his mouth.

Theon at least had the decency to look guilty. “Because…well, I wasn’t _sure_ if I wanted you or not.”

That struck Robb right in the guts.

He couldn’t say what emotion crossed his face, because Theon hurried in to explain. “I mean, I’ve wanted you since…well, for longer than you’ve wanted me,” he said. “Years now. But I wasn’t sure…I wasn’t sure I could be with the son of the man who…”

“Who took you from the ocean?” Robb finished.

Theon nodded.

“I can understand that,” Robb admitted. He wanted Theon to know he didn’t blame him.

“But I’ve thought about it. A lot, actually.” Theon came so close that their chests were pressing together, and Robb could feel Theon’s arousal digging into his thigh, which surely meant that Theon could feel _his_. “I want you, Robb. I want to seduce you.”

Robb swallowed. “You do?”

“I do.” Theon closed the space between their lips. Robb was sure his lips were cold and clammy from the chilled water, but Theon’s were warm and soft. Just a hint of a tongue ran over Robb’s mouth, and then Theon was pulling back, but not too far. “If you want to be seduced.”

“I do,” Robb breathed. He’d fantasized about this for so long, that Theon would one day come to him, throw him down on the bed, and do to him every dirty act he’d ever talked about doing to the women he bedded. “Gods, I do.”

Theon wrapped his hands—warm and soft, like his lips—around Robb’s hips and swept him off his feet, effortless. Robb opened his thighs at Theon’s gentle prodding and wrapped his legs around Theon’s lithe waist. As they moved, the other boy’s erection rubbed against his stomach, his groin, his own hardness, which had him moaning behind closed teeth.

“Hold your breath?” Theon suggested.

Robb didn’t ask; he just did. He pulled in a deep breath, and when his lips were sealed, Theon pulled him underwater. It was cold, but their bodies were warm together. It was too murky to see or hear anything. Robb felt helpless in the best way possible as he gripped Theon’s shoulders and allowed the other to take control. Hands raked up and down his back, over his ass, across his thighs. Blazingly hot lips pressed against his own.

The tongue was back, but instead of being content to simply slide along Robb’s lips, it was now prodding to get inside. Robb opened his mouth as much as he dared. The musky taste of water rushed in, but so did the tongue, bringing a completely different flavor with it. It tasted coppery, but also slightly salty. Mixed with the water, Robb liked to image this was what the ocean tasted like.

Theon’s tongue played with his, brushed it, pulled on it. Robb wondered how long they could stay like this. As much as he reveled in this new intimacy, a larger and larger part of his body was calling out for air. Just when he thought he might pass out, Theon pulled away and brought them both back to the surface. Robb took in a deep, gasping breath, and some of the water in his mouth went down his airway. He choked on it and swept the water from his eyes so he could see Theon again.

“Sorry, I forgot humans can’t hold their breaths as long as selkies.” Theon nuzzled into the crook of Robb’s neck. “You know, you can tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”

“Nothing wrong,” Robb said, taking in a deep breath. “I forgot too.”

He felt Theon smirk against his neck. “Do you trust me to make you feel good, Robb?”

“More than anyone.”

A hand wrapped around his dick and oh Gods, not even the chill of the water could keep him from responding. “Do you do this to yourself,” Theon asked, “when you’re alone? Do you think about me when you do it?”

“Don’t you know?” Robb could barely get the words out.

“I don’t know that.” Theon gave him a slow stroke from the base to the tip. “Tell me.”

“I…hnn, yes, all the time.” Robb gripped Theon’s shoulders for some sort of purchase. His legs were still wrapped around Theon’s waist, actually more like his hips and legs now. “I pictured it was you using your hand on me and…um, maybe your mouth, like what the women in your stories do.”

“You’d like my mouth on you?”

“Mmm…” was all Robb could get out as the hand picked up its pace.

“Where do you want it? Here?” He gave Robb a light kiss on the lips.

_Yes, but…_ Robb shook his head.

“No? Here, maybe?” Theon went lower, trailing kisses down his neck and cheek until he reached a nipple. It was already hard from the cold, and Theon took it between his teeth and gave a light tweak.

That felt good, but in no way the scratch his itch really needed. He shook his head again.

“Oh, then maybe you mean down here?” Theon looked up at him through his lashes one more time before sinking under the water without so much as taking a breath. His head disappeared in one smooth movement, and a moment later, Robb’s feet were pulled out from under him, legs thrown over Theon’s shoulders. He cried out, first in surprise, then as he felt something warm wrap around the head his prick.

There was no purchase this time. He could only lean back and accept it. It was so tight, and smoother than any hand could be. He could feel Theon’s tongue swirling, but there was another sensation as well. Water rushing back and forth, trapped within the heat of Theon’s mouth but also over Robb’s cock. The sensation was so odd, but at the same time so pleasurable, that by the time Theon took him deeper into his mouth, Robb couldn’t even hold himself back.

With a strangled cry, he came, trying to arch his back but unable to. It lasted longer than anything his own hand had been able to accomplish before. It surged out of him in pulses. One, two, three. A fourth, maybe? He couldn’t tell. He was numb; the tension in his limbs was gone. He barely even realized his legs had been set back on the riverbed until Theon emerged with a cocky grin on his face.

“You know, you didn’t need to let go so early on my account. I can hold my breath for much longer than that.”

“Sorry,” Robb said.

“It’s fine.” Theon wrapped his hands around Robb’s waist and pulled him closer, so their foreheads met, their bodies pressed together. His still-hard erection brushed against Robb’s slowly softening one. “You did fine. For your first time.”

“Oh, you’re still…” Robb tried to reach between them, but Theon knocked his hand away gently.

“That’s fine too.”

“Are you going to put it in me?”

“Would you like that?”

Robb nodded.

“Then I will. But not now. You would find the water uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Robb said, not really understanding. But he trusted Theon would know these sorts of things. Because he was a selkie, but also because he was Theon. “Then how are you going to take care of that?”

“Would you like to watch?”

Again, Robb nodded.

Theon reached between them. They were so close that Robb could feel the current of the other boy’s hand as he wrapped around his own length and began pumping, slow and steady, like he’d done with Robb moments earlier. There was none of the hurried, clumsy fumbling Robb knew from his nights alone, imagining this moment over and over again in his head. Theon had a way of making everything seem so effortless.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” he asked.

Theon smiled and shook his head and continued to pull at himself, stirring the water between them. “The only thing I want you to do is continue to be my brother.”

Robb blushed at that. Could they still be brothers? After what had just happened? “Alright,” he said.

“That way you’ll always know that I love you,” Theon continued. His breath hitched. He must be close. “And I…I’ll always know that you love me. And you…you do love me, don’t you, Robb?”

“Of course.”

“One day…one day you’ll find my skin.” His breathing came very heavy now, and he used his free hand to lean on Robb. “And we’ll…the both of us…we’ll go to the ocean. I’d take you for a swim and…” He made a high-pitched moan, and Robb felt something warm against his thigh, only for a moment. Then it was gone, washed away by the river’s current.

“Would you have to leave after that?” Robb asked.

“I would have to go back to the ocean, yes.” Theon took a deep breath, then pulled Robb in for a deep kiss. “I would miss you, Robb. I’m not sure I could bring myself to miss Winterfell, but I would miss you.” A soft peck to the side of his mouth now. “But I could live knowing that you still loved me.”

“Me too,” Robb said, trying to smile, trying not to think of the sealskin in the chest in the musty tower. He took Theon’s hands in his own. “Brothers always.”

“ _Now_ and always,” Theon corrected with another kiss.


	6. Hushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timtam left this request:
> 
> _Theon and Jon fighting and bickering as usual but then Jon finds out about Theon's awful childhood (abused by brothers and father, mother losing her mind) and starts to feel some sympathy for him and then they end up bonding over their shared feeling of not belonging and then they share their first kiss_ ^.^
> 
> Now with added dorky fanart.

“Does he have to follow us everywhere?”

Jon scowled at Theon as the older boy shot him a withering glance over his shoulder.

“Of course,” Robb answered, completely jovially, completely missing Theon’s biting tone. “He is my brother, after al. Just as much as you are.”

Jon gritted his teeth. _More than you_. He willed his thoughts into Greyjoy’s head, but predictably, his skull was too thick.

Robb finished saddling up his horse. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us,” he announced, standing and dusting off his breeches. “Where would you like to go today, Jon? Theon chose last time.”

Jon smirked at Theon, who scowled back. “I would like to head north,” he said, because he knew that Theon liked to ride west, towards the brook where he liked to go swimming. “I feel like being out in the open today.”

“Good weather for it,” Robb agreed. He started to mount up but then stepped down. “Ah, I almost forgot my bow, didn’t I?”

He handed the reins over to Theon, who now took the opportunity to smirk at Jon. _Doesn’t trust you with his horse, bastard_. Probably what he was thinking.

“I’ll be right back.” Robb hurried from the stables, leaving the two of them behind.

It was a nice day for a hunt, the sky clear and almost blindingly blue. When they were out in the open, with the dome of it reaching high overhead, it would be easy to imagine that they did indeed live in a giant’s eye, like Old Nan said. It might be nice, Jon thought, if that were the case. If they were, all of them, so tiny, all the same size, all the exact same importance to the blue-eyed giant—that is to say, none.

As it was, there was a roof over their heads, and Theon was smirking at him, lording over him like he always did. It didn’t help that the older boy was also taller. Jon hated him.

“What’s the matter, Snow?” he said. “You’re looking at me like I fucked your mum.”

Jon gritted his teeth.

“Although now that you mention it, I did see a likely whore at the brothel the other night.”

“Don’t,” Jon warned.

“Ugly as sin, just like you.” Everyone (mostly Robb) went on and on about how Greyjoy had such a charming laugh, but to Jon, it sounded like the braying of a donkey. “She was all over me, naturally. I had to pay her _not_ to fuck me.”

“At least _my_ father cares for me,” Jon snapped back, silencing Theon’s hoarse laughter. “Can _you_ say the same, Greyjoy?”

Theon stared at him as if he’d been struck across the face.

“How much of a fight did you father put up when _mine_ came to take you away? All the stories _I’ve_ heard say it wasn’t very much. That he bent his knee to King Robert and foisted you off on my father like a sack of wet flour. So you can go on and on about how my mother was some whore, but at least there’s _one_ person in this world who actually _wants_ me around. Besides just Robb that is,” he added.

Theon’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth back and forth.

“Watch yourself, Snow,” he said at last, and Jon knew he’d struck a nerve. “I’m heir to the Iron Islands. Of course my father cares about me. All of the Iron Islands cares about me. The fact that I can stand in front of you, with a head on my shoulders, proves as much. Just because he did not debase himself by begging and pleading and crying when they took me away doesn’t mean I’m…I’m on the same level as some bastard.”

He twisted the reins of Robb’s horse in his hands. “Of course I’m wanted.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to Jon at this point. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Snow. My mother cried when they took me away. She was a mess. Typical woman.” He laughed, but not his braying-donkey laugh. “Pulling her hair out, trying to claw her way to me. They had to escort her back to her room. I…I never got to say a proper goodbye…”

His voice dropped off in harshness so quickly that it caught Jon by surprise. Perhaps it caught Theon by surprise too, because he quickly turned his head away. The hand with the reins in it came up to wipe something from his eye.

Jon didn’t know what to say. He’d never succeeded in making Greyjoy cry before, though Greyjoy had certainly made _him_ cry on more than one occasion when he’d been younger. He thought he should enjoy his accomplishment, but…it didn’t really feel like an accomplishment it all. Certainly not something he would ever brag about to Robb or, Gods forbid, his father.

“Theon, I…”

“Shut it, Snow,” Theon snapped, but his voice was quaking. “At least my mother’s not some _whore_.”

“I’m sure she thinks about you a lot.”

Theon’s back stiffened, as if he’d been expecting another attack.

“I like to think that my mother thinks of me,” Jon went on. “Wherever she is.”

“I…m sure she does.” Theon’s voice was so small.

Jon’s voice was equally small. “Thank you.”

Were they…having a moment?

Well, whatever they were having, it was broken by Robb’s reappearance with his bow and boisterous announcement of, “Got it. Let’s go.”

They mounted up on their horses and headed in the northerly direction, just like Jon had suggested. The wide dome of the sky was above them now, but Jon couldn’t stop thinking about his interaction with Theon. When he looked over, Theon was riding by Robb’s side, his usual cocky grin in place. There was no sign of the vulnerable boy Jon had managed to coax from him, and it struck Jon suddenly. That face Theon was wearing…it was a mask.

And now that he saw it, he couldn’t _unsee_ it. The stupid smile, the stupid laughter, it was a design. Jon supposed he’d always known that, deep down, but somehow he’d thought it was designed specifically to get a rise out of _him_.

Theon seemed as distracted as him, because he reacted too late when they managed to flush a grouse from some tall grass and Robb ended up shooting it. He turned to them with a self-satisfied grin that fell away quickly. “What’s wrong with you two? You’ve been very…sullen all day. Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No,” Jon answered quickly. “You must just be on your game today.”

“He who shoots it gets to retrieve it,” Theon laughed.

Robb frowned and dismounted his horse. “Fine, fine.” He waded into the tall grass, following the grouse’s flight path.

Once his back was turned to them, Jon pulled his horse up alongside Theon’s and leaned over. Theon scowled at him. “What do you want, Snow?”

Jon wasn’t sure himself. “I wanted to apologize if I hurt your feelings back in the stables.”

Theon snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I hope you get to see your mother again someday. I know she’ll be happy to see you again.”

Theon wrinkled his nose. “You don’t need to be nice to me, Jon. I know you like to pretend you have as much honor as a Stark, but really—”

He froze when Jon closed the distance between them. It was a brief kiss, just on the corner of his mouth. Jon had no idea what compelled him to do it, and he immediately felt stupid afterwards. He wasn’t Theon’s mother. He wasn’t even Theon’s friend. He just really, really wanted Theon to—

“Shut up,” he said, pulling back. “Can’t you just shut up for one minute, Theon? You’re almost bearable that way.”

Theon, for once didn’t say anything.

“What are you two doing?”

Jon and Theon broke apart in a hurry as Robb emerged from the tall grass with the grouse in hand. Bits of dry grass clung to his hair, and it seemed he was more preoccupied with pulling them out than with what he may or may not have seen between the two of them. His goofy smile said he had definitely not seen the kiss.

“I hope you were getting along,” he said. “What were you talking about while I was gone?”

“Nothing,” Jon answered.

Theon, face pink, said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus fanart:
> 
> [Yandere](http://36.media.tumblr.com/0e33f78d154135a98abc1fef759ce88f/tumblr_o45roieTHF1usvgi7o2_1280.jpg)
> 
> [Kuudere](https://41.media.tumblr.com/b730b1ca1cc7cb45dc1c3822ba638f94/tumblr_o45roieTHF1usvgi7o3_1280.jpg)
> 
> [Dandere](https://40.media.tumblr.com/88f9234eaf26fa9ccb62bf45bd1c522c/tumblr_o45roieTHF1usvgi7o4_1280.jpg)


	7. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zumo asked: 
> 
> _For a request...hmm how about one where Ned punishes Theon for something (could be anything) and Robb comforts him afterwards?_
> 
> Featuring bby!Robb and bby!Theon. (◕▽◕)*

Theon knew he shouldn’t be crying. He was twelve years old, and besides, Lord Stark’s punishment hadn’t hurt that much. He’d had much worse from his own father and brothers, beatings that had left him sore and limping for days. But he’d never been taken over his father’s knee, like some common peasant. He’d never been asked to pick his own switch. And he’d never had anyone _watch_.

His face burned hotter than his sore behind as he thought of Robb standing there, watching as Theon had pulled his pants down and bent over, watching as Lord Stark had made him count out the strokes. Ten. That wasn’t that much. But each one seemed to cut deeper than the last. When Lord Stark had finally given him permission to pull his pants up—“and clean yourself up, lad”—he’d run from the solar, sniffling all the way to his room.

Once in the relative safety of his room—was he ever rally safe anywhere in Winterfell? Lord Stark could easily break down the door if the time came—he buried his head under his pillow and willed himself to stop crying. “You’re an Ironborn,” he said. “Act like it.” When he felt he was no longer in danger of bursting into tears, he got up and went to the full-length mirror.

His face was red, and he rubbed at his eyes furiously. They felt crusty and heavy, but maybe he could convince anyone who asked that he’d simply had a bad night’s sleep. He smoothed out his hair as best he could, then slowly turned and dropped his pants again to see what damage had been done. No blood, though it had felt like it at the time. It had felt like the switch was cutting his skin open, but it had just left a few red welts in its wake. Even less reason to cry. It still hurt, though, and Theon prodded the largest welt with a careful finger.

Just as the door opened.

He froze, hand on his ass, ass turned towards the mirror. Face a mess. He looked over his shoulder to see Robb standing at the door, wearing an expression of horror to mirror his own.

Theon snatched his pants up. “Can’t you knock?”

“Sorry!” Robb cried and threw his hands over his eyes, although the damage was already done.

“What do you want?”

“I just…I wanted to make sure you were alright. That you weren’t hurt too badly.”

“I’m fine,” Theon huffed. “An Ironborn can take more than a few swats on the ass.”

Robb peeked out from between his fingers. “Really? Because back there you looked—”

“I don’t care what I looked like!” Theon snapped. “I’m fine!” He picked up the pillow he’d used to bury his head and chucked it at Robb. “Now get out. Leave me alone.”

The pillow hit Robb square in the face, and for a horrifying moment, Theon thought he might run crying from the room. And then Lord Stark would come back for him.

But Robb just stood there, looking hurt but not…necessarily in the way Theon had intended. “I tried to tell Father,” he said, hand twisting back and forth on the doorknob. “I tried to tell him that it was my fault too. I helped you scare Old Nan and—”

“He knows,” Theon interrupted. “That’s why he made you watch.”

“B-but that’s not fair.”

“That’s what a whipping boy is for.”

Robb shook his head. Only eight years old and his hair was already as fiery as Lady Stark’s. “You’re not a whipping boy, Theon.”

“Then why didn’t your father punish you as well?”

“Maybe…maybe because he knew you were the one who suggested it?” Robb suggested. “And…because you didn’t apologize to her when he asked you to?”

“Or maybe he wouldn’t dare strike his darling firstborn heir.”

Robb stared at his feet. His face looked red too. “I’m sorry, Theon. Next time I’ll ask him to punish me too.”

Theon sighed. “I don’t want you to get punished.”

Robb sniffled and wiped his eye. Was the kid crying? “You don’t?”

“No,” Theon answered truthfully. _I’d rather you didn’t watch while I get punished_. Instead he said, “I mean, come on, we both know you couldn’t handle it.”

Robb jutted out his chin. “I could too.”

“Could not. One swat and you’d be crying, ‘Mommy! Mommy!’”

“No I wouldn’t,” Robb insisted. “I could handle it. I’d be as brave as you.”

That stopped Theon in the midst of his theatrics. He had expected Robb to maybe toss the pillow back at him or run from the room in embarrassment, but not… “You think I’m brave?”

“You’re the bravest person I know,” Robb declared. “After Father, of course, but he’s fought in wars.” He came into the room and plopped himself onto Theon’s bed without so much as an invitation. “When I grow up, I’m going to fight in a whole bunch of wars. And you can be my second in command.”

Theon laughed. “A Stark with a Greyjoy for his second in command?”

“Of course, because everyone’s afraid of the Ironborn, first off, but also because you’re brave and I know you’d always have my back.” He swung his legs back and forth over the side of the mattress.

The kid had ridiculous faith in him, Theon realized. It was partly why he’d been so easy to goad into scaring the old woman, getting him to hide in the wardrobe and slam the doors when she was least expecting it. He also genuinely believed Theon when he said he hadn’t been bothered by the switching, even though he could surely see the truth on Theon’s face. Theon remembered having a similar sort of awe of Maron and Rodrik, a period of time when he’d believed everything they said and believed they knew everything there was to know. Was this what it was like to be a big brother?

Robb was watching him, smiling his cherubic smile. “Let’s promise to always have each other’s backs.” He patted the bed by his side. “Come here.”

“Why?” Theon asked warily.

“Because we have to make a blood oath of it, of course. Come sit with me.”

“Uh…I’m a little sore,” Theon admitted, shamefacedly.

“That’s alright,” Robb responded. “You can stand while we cut our palms. Do you have something sharp?”

“To help Ned Stark’s son draw blood? I don’t think so.”

Robb frowned, as if he hadn’t thought of that. “Alright, just a regular oath then.” With a swing of his feet, he launched off the bed and came to stand in front of Theon. He put one hand over his heart, probably imitating a knight or some such. “I, Robb Stark, do solemnly swear to protect Theon Greyjoy and to always have his back when we go into battle.”

“Me too,” Theon agreed.

“No, you have to be official about it.”

“Oh, sorry. Uh…I, Theon Greyjoy, promise to have Robb Stark’s back when we go into battle.” The thing was, he wasn’t sure if he was just indulging the whims of a child or if he meant it. Part of him meant it. If he was going to be a big brother, he was going to be the best big brother he could be. He’d never had anyone look up to him before, and he’d certainly never had anyone call him brave. “Is that good?”

Robb nodded in approval. “Perfect. Now we’re oath brothers.”

“Oath brothers,” Theon repeated. “Your father might not like that.”

“If Jon can be my brother, than _you_ can be my brother.” Robb clenched and unclenched his hands before seeming to realize he was getting worked up. “Anyway, I’m glad Father’s punishment didn’t bother you too much. I’m sorry about your bottom though.”

Theon’s back stiffened at that. “Who said anything about my…bottom?” Stupid baby words. He’d need to teach this kid some proper language.

“You said it was sore, didn’t you?” Robb’s red brows arched over his eyes in concern. “Do you need me to kiss it?”

“Kiss it? Kiss my ass?”

“Well…” Robb’s face flushed. “That’s what Mother does when I get hurt. She kisses it better. I thought…”

“I don’t want you kissing my ass,” Theon said. He pulled the other pillow of his bed and lodged it at Robb, who took it squarely on the chin. Hey, just because he was going to be a decent big brother didn’t mean he couldn’t tease the little twerp every once in a while, right? 


	8. Bullied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I_love_gummi_worms: 
> 
> _Prompt: Theon/Podrick, Theon is the school bully and Pod is the shy, meek nerd but Theon goes too far and Pod pushes Theon against the wall and dominates him. #Pod'sRod_
> 
> I had fun with this one. I love me some rare pairs.
> 
> Show!Pod, obviously, for age reasons. And warnings for Pod's potty mouth.

“Back again, Pod? Is that older boy still picking on you?”

“He _is_ , Mr. Lannister.” Pod dropped his book bag and sank into the chair across from Tyrion’s desk. It was practically worn to fit him from all the sitting he’d done in it.

Tyrion clucked his tongue. “I’d have thought he’d backed off after the treatment you gave him last week.”

“No, it’s only gotten worse and—” Pod looked up from his lap. “You…heard about that?”

“The whole school was talking about it.” Tyrion took a drink from his coffee mug, which was probably booze of some kind. Too bad they didn’t make novelty mugs that said “World’s Most Inebriated School Counselor” on them. “I’m just going on secondhand accounts. Did you really shove him against a wall and…what were the kids saying…choke him out?”

Pod felt his face heat up, a not uncommon sensation. “I might have. B-but I didn’t hurt him, I swear. He didn’t have a scratch on him. I think…maybe he knows I don’t have the…guts to actually hurt him, and that’s why he’s been ramping up his bullying.” He sighed and looked down into his lap again, feeling defeated. “I just don’t know what else to do, Mr. Lannister. Today he threw some of my textbooks into the pool. I was able to get them back, but they’re all ruined and the teacher says I might have to pay for them and—”

“Pod.” Tyrion set his mug down with a sharp clink. “Calm down.”

Pod took a deep breath.

“Good.” Tyrion pretended to rearrange his pencils. “Now, you already know what I think.”

“You think Greyjoy just wants to get a rise out of me.”

“I do indeed.”

“But how long do I have to keep ignoring him before he leaves me alone.”

“That’s the thing.” Tyrion moved onto his papers, which he pretended to shuffle. “An attention whore like Greyjoy is going to try very, very hard to get you to react. I know bullies. Trust me, Pod. I’ve had plenty of my own.”

Pod nodded. “And did they eventually leave you alone? After you ignored them long enough, I mean.”

Tyrion picked up his mug. “No,” he said, and took a big gulp. “They didn’t.”

 

***

 

He was headed to PE. He hated PE, so he wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with. Add that on top of Tyrion’s less-than-encouraging advice, and Podrick Payne was feeling downright…unamicable.

“Hey, hey, it’s Pod the Rod.”

Pod gritted his teeth and opened his locker door to get his PE uniform.

“Leave him alone, Theon.” That was Greyjoy’s friend, Robb, who, while not being a total prick, was one of the elite—homecoming king nominee, valedictorian, high school royalty and all that. He could do a much better job of reining his friend in if he wanted to.

“What? I’m just joking around with my good pal Pod.”

Pod pulled his uniform out of the locker and kept his eyes on the ground so as not to show the older boy that he was even listening.

“Hey, Pod, is it true that Mrs. Tyrell is going to make you pay for ruining your books?”

Pod headed into the showers to change, where no one would bother him. It was a trick he’d discovered the first week of school, since the showers had stalls. Nobody else ever seemed bothered changing in front of everyone else. Pod just couldn’t understand it. Maybe _he_ was the weird one. He knew he had self-esteem issues. Tyrion had said time and again that that was why Theon had singled him out for bullying. But he’d be…darned if he was going to take his clothes off in front of Greyjoy, just so the older boy could make even _more_ comments.

He had just gotten into the shower and pulled the curtain closed when he heard footsteps outside on the grimy tile. “Come on, Pod.” Greyjoy. “You should be thanking me for the book thing. Maybe if you spent less time studying, you’d get laid once in a while.”

Pod gritted his teeth and began pulling his shirt off.

“I mean, you’re still a virgin, right? Wanna fix that? I was with this girl this weekend, and I mean, total slut. Don’t know how you feel about sloppy seconds, but a guy like you can’t be too picky, right?”

Pod had to bite his lip not to respond.

“Come _on_ , Pod. What is this? Giving me the silent treatment? What are you, a woman now? Is that why you always go into the showers to change?”

Pod’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat as the curtain rustled. From the outside.

“Now you’ve got me curious. Are you really a girl, Pod? A really ugly girl?” Theon chuckled and rustled the curtain again. “We both already know you don’t have any _balls_ , and we both know you’re an enormous pussy, but—”

That was it. Pod threw the curtain back himself, surprising the…heck out of Theon, who didn’t even have enough time to react as Pod slammed him up against the wall so hard that his head bounced off the tile. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up! I swear I will kick your…butt.” He grabbed Theon’s collar and slammed his head against the wall again, harder this time. “You think I won’t hurt you, but I will!”

To his surprise, Theon leaned his head back and moaned.

“Don’t make fun of me.” Pod went to knee him in the balls when he became uncomfortably aware of the way Theon’s gym pants were tented at his crotch. Pod let go of Theon as if he were a spider. “Are you…are you getting off from this?” He reeled backwards. “You’re sick.”

Theon slumped against the wall. “Come on, don’t be that way. You can hurt me if you want.” He slapped himself across the face. Pod cringed as the sound rang off the tiles. He hoped nobody would come to investigate. “Go on. Hurt me.” He slapped himself again, even harder.

“Cripes!” Pod grabbed Theon’s hands to keep him from hurting himself. “Stop that.”

“You don’t understand? I’ve been goading you all week. I _want_ you to hurt me, Pod. I’ve been waiting for this. I deserve it. So the least you could do is give me a good ass-kicking, yeah?”

Pod shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why not?” Theon’s face turned sour, hurt. “Haven’t I done enough to piss you off? I’m a terrible person. I know it. You know it.” He tried to pull out of Pod’s grasp, and Pod had to hold him tighter. Theon’s breath hitched at that.

“ _Why_ do you want me to hurt you?”

_Now_ he looked ashamed of himself. “Remember when you went completely berserk last week?”

“Yeah.”

“And you pushed me up against the wall, kinda like you did just now?”

“What’s your point, Greyjoy?” Pod snapped, startling himself as well as Theon.

Theon’s face went a bright shade of pink. “I…maybe I liked it a little.”

“You _liked_ it?” Pod was aghast. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been bullying me so badly all week? You were trying to get me to snap again?”

“Um…” Theon squirmed a bit. “Maybe?”

Pod released Theon’s wrists and took a few stumbling steps backwards. “I’m not here to fulfill your sick fetishes,” he said.

“I mean…you weren’t supposed to find out.” Theon glanced down at his obvious erection, which didn’t seem to have abated at all. In fact, it was even more pronounced and Pod was definitely not looking at it. “Man, this is pretty fucked up, isn’t it? Could you…maybe not tell anyone about this? I promise to lay off from now on.”

Pod didn’t _want_ to tell anyone. He didn’t even want to think about it again. But Theon didn’t know that.

“You have to apologize first,” he said, lifting his chin resolutely, “for being so mean to me.”

Theon smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Pod.”

“And I want you to pay for all my books you ruined.”

“Done.”

Really? Just like that?

“And…and you have to stop talking about people like that, the way you do. Especially girls.”

At that, finally Theon frowned. “Hey now.”

“Agree to it, or I’ll tell everyone out there that you just sexually harassed me.”

Theon’s face went slack for a moment. “I didn’t—it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t trying to…get into your pants or anything. I get off on being dominated but…but it’s not a _sexual_ thing.” He knocked his knees together to hide his obvious arousal. “I mean, it’s for _me_. You weren’t even supposed to _know_ about it.”

“You keep saying that, but that just means you were using me as…as some prop. And not even telling me you were doing it.” Pod couldn’t help but remember the lecture they’d all been given on the first day of school, which included, among other things, the school’s stance on sexual harassment. He was willing to bet that if he went to Principal Baratheon with this, he could quite easily make his case. “So…you have to agree to all my terms, or…or I _will_ be telling someone about it.”

Theon glowered. “That’s blackmail, you know.”

Oh…shoot, it was, wasn’t it. Was blackmail justified in this situation?

Before Pod could sweat about it too much, Theon let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll stop…with the locker room talk.” He shot Pod a look. “You know that’s all it is, right? Locker room talk? I don’t actually…think that way about any of them.”

That surprised Pod. “You don’t?”

Theon snorted. “No.”

“Then why talk that way?”

Theon stared at him as if he were stupid. Pod certainly felt stupid for asking.

Suddenly someone was shouting at them from out in the locker room, “Greyjoy! Payne! Stop messing around in there and get out here or I’ll deduct your points for the day.” Wow, they must have really lost track of time if the gym teacher had been sent in after them.

“Sorry, Ms. Tarth!” Pod called. He hurried to the shower stall and began pulling his gym shirt on.

Theon remained slumped against the wall. “Go on,” he said, when he caught Pod staring at him. “I’ll take the deduction for today. I was thinking of cutting classes anyway.”

“Oh.” Pod stuffed his head through the collar of his shirt and pulled the hem down. “Okay.”

Theon got slowly to his feet. He looked tired. Had he always had circles under his eyes? “Sorry again.”

“Yeah…”

Theon jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t…”

“No, it’s fine,” Pod lied.

Theon left with a flippant wave over his shoulder, and for the briefest of seconds, Pod considered calling out to him and offering him…what? He didn’t owe the other boy anything. If anything, _Theon_ owed _him_. Yeah, that’s how it was. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t ever have to speak to Greyjoy after today.

He hurried to finish dressing and resolved not to think about Theon Greyjoy anymore.


	9. Stolen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IgnisEtGlacies13 asked for a fic where: 
> 
> _Robb rescues wildling!Theon from drowning and takes him to Winterfell to be questioned. Theon interprets that as Robb "stealing" him and tries to/successfully seduces him._
> 
> If you love wilding!Theon (how could you not?) check out [Iron and Flint](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5760964/chapters/13274008%22) here.

“What’s a wildling doing this far south?”

“Was aimin’ for much farther south.” The wildling man smiled like he wasn’t being held in Winterfell’s dungeons, as if his fate didn’t rest on how he answered these interrogation questions.

“And where were you aiming for?” Hallis Mollen said, leaning heavily on the table, dangerously close to this reckless man. True, he’d been disarmed of his small knives and arrows—his bow was lost in the river Robb had fished him out of. But that didn’t mean he was by any means subdued.

 “As far south as south goes. I’ve no mind to be here when winter comes.”

“Can’t stomach a Northern winter, eh?” Hal laughed.

The wildling clinked his manacles together, as if he didn’t quite understand what they were for. “Not the winter I have no stomach for. It’s what comes with it.” He looked up, and his eyes locked with Robb’s. He had startling eyes that seemed to drill straight through Robb.

“Snarks and grumpkins, eh?” Hal shook with silent laughter. “Perhaps we should get Old Nan down here to interrogate this cur.”

Robb frowned. “How did you get around the Wall?”

The wildling shrugged.

Hal slammed his fist on the table. “You will answer when the Lord of Winterfell asks you a question!”

The wildling didn’t so much as flinch, but continued to stare at Robb. He didn’t see a lord of Winterfell, someone whose lands he’d trespassed on. There was no fear there for what Robb’s men would do to him—or, at least, not as much fear as there should be. His fears lay elsewhere. Robb shuddered as he remembered the Night Watch deserted his father had executed before he’d left for King’s Landing. _A madman sees what he sees_.

 Hal snorted in disgust and raised his hand to smack the wildling across the face. “You insolent little—”

“Enough!” Robb commanded, and Hal dropped his hand. “I want to be alone with the prisoner.”

The guards stared at him. “But, my lord…” one stammered.

“I must protest,” Hal agreed. “He may be shackled and disarmed, but he is a wildling. There is no way to predict what he will do.”

Robb kept his eyes on the wildling’s. “I’ll be fine,” he answered, hand coming to rest on the hilt of the sword by his side. It may not be Valyrian steel, but it would be enough against this one man. “I believe the presence of so many civilized men may be intimidating our guest here. Perhaps a more intimate interrogation would loosen his tongue.”

Hal was silent for a moment, then turned to the guards. “You heard your lord!” he hollered, waving his arms. “Out with you. The lot of you!” He truly had taken to his new duties with a fervor that Robb admired. He ushered the remaining guards out of the cell, then turned back and said, “A guard will be nearby in case anything goes wrong, my Lord.”

Robb nodded to him, and Hal nodded back. The door closed.

A moment of silence ensued.

Robb turned to his captive. “What’s your name?”

The wildling shifted in his seat, rattling his chains. “Theon.”

“That’s a wildling name is it?”

“I apologize if my name offends you,” Theon said in a mocking tone. “And what should I call you? Lord Your Highness?”

“I’m Robb Stark. You may call me Lord Stark.”

“I don’t think so.”

Hal was right. This one was incredibly insolent.

“You do realize I’m the one in control of your situation right now, don’t you?” Robb moved closer to the table, jutting his hip out to show the sword at his belt.

Theon stared at it for a moment, then glanced back to Robb, a cocky grin taking hold. “Was wonderin’ when you were going t’get around to that part.” He stood, quite unexpectedly. Robb grabbed for his sword, but instead of attacking, Theon began to untie his belt.

“What are you doing?” Robb demanded.

Theon made a noise of frustration as he tried to shrug out of his furs, sliding them down his arms until they caught on the manacles. The skin of his arms was very pale and very smooth. “Untie me and we’ll do this proper,” he said.

“ _This_?”

“You’re going to take me, aren’t you?” Furs half off and askew, he next went for the wrappings around the legs of his pants. “That’s why you sent those other men away, right? Glad you did. I’ve never taken so many at once before.”

Robb took a step backwards. “What are you talking about?” He hoped this wasn’t going in the direction he thought it was.

“You stole me. I’m yours now.” He set the wrappings on the table, then reached for the crude bit of twine holding his trousers up. “Can’t say I’ll make for much of a wife, but I am, after all, good at one thing.” He winked.

Robb rushed in, grabbed Theon’s hands, and pulled them away from his belt. “Stop that!” he hissed. “We’re not—that’s not why I—what game do you think you’re playing?”

Theon stared up at him, still smiling, acting dumb. “You’ve stolen me,” he repeated, as if Robb were supposed to know what that meant. “You must have wanted me bad to fish me out of the water like that. So…go on. Claim me. No sense in waitin’, is there?”

“Stop,” Robb repeated. “You’re a man.”

“Do they not do it with men down here?” Theon asked. “Is that why you sent them all away? You didn’t want anyone to know.” He leaned forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll be quiet about it.”

Robb slammed him back into the chair. Perhaps it had been unwise to dismiss Hal and the guards after all. “You’re being indecent. I’m not going to touch you.”

“You’re touching me right now.”

“I mean I’m not—I have no intention of lying with you…the way a man lies with a woman. Do you understand?”

Theon looked up at him. “Yes,” he agreed, “it would be quite difficult, since I have no cunny. Do you not know how it works between two men, then?”

Robb gritted his teeth. “You’re being difficult.”

Theon squirmed in his chair. “I’d say I’m making this _easy_ for you.”

 “You’re doing this to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?” Robb let go of him and took a step back. “I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you once we were alone, but I see now how foolish that was. I’ll call my men back.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. I’d rather just be yours.”

“I don’t want you,” Robb said firmly, just as Theon finished shimmying down his trousers. He stood there, furs still wrapped around his arms, chest and stomach exposed in pieces, and completely bare from the waist down. Robb had to admit he was not what he had thought wildlings would look like. He was thin, for one, and though his hair was dark, his legs were almost completely smooth, like his arms. His hair was thick and coarse between his legs, though, where his fully erect member jutted up towards the sleekness of his stomach. Robb felt like a maiden under his gaze and shrank back.

“You’ve never done it before,” Theon said, coming around the side of the table. The shackles on his legs dragged on the ground. “Not with a man, perhaps not with a woman. You’re scared, but you don’t need to be. It won’t hurt. Not for you.”

Robb was completely frozen in place as Theon came to stand in front of him, tall and intimidating in his nakedness. And, despite himself, Robb felt himself stirring in his pants. He turned away quickly. No, this was wrong. This was a man, his captive even. He should not be reacting this way.

A hand played with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You’re trembling. Are you scared of a naked man, _Lord Stark_?”

Robb shuddered. “Stop. Put your clothes back on. I’m calling the guards in.”

Theon sighed in what could only be annoyance. “I’ve never been stolen by a man who didn’t even _want_ me.” But he pulled back, and the rustling of cloth told Robb he was pulling his furs back on. “If you’re not gonna fuck me, what _do_ you want? Are you going t’watch while your other men bend me over the table?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you’ll let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Robb turned around and was relieved to see that, even if Theon had not pulled his pants back on, his furs at least covered down to his hips. His long, slender legs were still very much visible, and Robb tried not to look at them. “You’re a wildling,” he said, eyes focused—mostly with success—on Theon’s face. “I can’t have you…raping and pillaging on my lands.”

“They’re not your lands,” Theon said, smile falling away suddenly. “I have every right to get myself to safety. And when winter comes, you’ll be sorry you didn’t do the same.”

“What are you running from?”

Theon stared straight back and him, and suddenly it wasn’t so difficult to concentrate on his eyes. “You ever see a dead man come back?”

“What?”

“A man. Dead. I _know_ he was dead. I saw it myself. Fell from a tree and broke his neck. But…he came back.” A visible shudder ran up the wildling’s back, and he clutched his furs tighter. “He came back and his eyes were blue. And he…I shot him in the throat with my arrow but he…he didn’t…”

Robb cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the White Walkers. The Others. They’ve been sleeping in the ice, under our feet. And now they’re…” He broke off and shook his head. “If you’re not going t’let me go, you might as well kill me. Because when winter comes, and the Others come with it, it’ll be the same thing.”

Robb was silent. In truth, he wasn’t sure what would happen to this man. He hadn’t given it much thought when he’d found him floundering in the river, before he’d even realized he was a wildling. Then his only thought had been getting answers: Why was he here? Were there others? He seemed to be alone, and Robb had no way of knowing, let alone proving, that Theon had caused any harm to anyone. He supposed he could execute him for trespassing, but…

Theon looked coyly over his shoulder. “I’m at your mercy, Lord Stark.”

Something thick and heavy caught in Robb’s throat. “I’m not…actually Lord of Winterfell. I’m just acting Lord while my father is away.”

From the blank expression on his face, Theon didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to call me Lord Stark,” Robb clarified. “Just…Robb is fine.”

Theon lowered his lashes. In this light, with his smooth skin and lithe frame, he might be mistaken for a woman on first glance. Robb told himself as much, ignoring that his eyes kept seeking out that now-concealed place between Theon’s legs.

“I can’t let you go, but I can offer you indentured servitude here at Winterfell. You will be fed and housed and taken care of.”

“I should hope so,” Theon said. “You did steal me after all.”

“In exchange,” Robb said, ignoring that remark, “I’ll find work for you to do. There’s much to be done before winter sets in.”

Theon nodded blankly.

“And…” Robb took a tentative step forward. “Perhaps, if you prove yourself loyal enough…”

Theon half-turned towards him, and one sleeve fell from his shoulder. “Yes?”

“…I’ll release you from your servitude. You will learn to live among civilized people. You will have nothing to fear while you are here at Winterfell, not from us and not from beyond the Wall. We can protect you.”

“Oh…” Theon turned fully to him, blinking in wonderment. “Can you…really?”

Robb motioned to his sword. “We have weapons, forts, strongholds. We have whole libraries of knowledge on protecting ourselves, something your people lack. If you truly believe these Others are awake, the safest place you could be is here.”

“You’re right, of course.” Theon made to pull his sleeve up, but in the process, his furs slipped even more, revealing his shoulders and chest, the pinkness of his hardened nipples. “Your weapons are so much…better than ours.”

Robb reached out help him get his furs back on. His fingers brushed against skin that was blazingly hot. Robb felt himself sweat. “You could become a Northerner, like my men. I am sworn to protect my men.”

Theon smiled, shy and demure. “Protect me, Lord Stark.”

 

***

 

Robb woke up to the door being slammed open. The haze of sleep and pleasure faded from mind as Hallis Mollen stormed in, looking bewildered. “My Lord!” he cried and ran to Robb’s side. “Are you alright?”

 “I…” Robb blinked, and as Hal reached for his arm, he reached for something to cover his nakedness. He ended up bunching Theon’s pants around his hips; his own didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. “What’s going on?”

“The wildling, my Lord.” Hal lifted him to his feet. “I knew it was a bad idea to leave you alone with that ruffian. I didn’t think he’d be able to overcome you. Are you hurt? Where did he strike you?”

“Strike me?”

“To have rendered you unconscious for so long, it must have been a powerful blow.” Now Hal was feeling his head and temple. “I’ll bring you that bastard’s head once we find him.”

“Find him?” Robb looked around the room. Theon was nowhere to be seen. “Why…where did he go?”

“He escaped. Stole your clothing and your sword, managed to steal the keys off the guard posted outside to free himself from his bonds.”

“He…escaped?” Robb’s face burned at the realization. “He’s gone? But he said…”

“Savages will say anything to save their necks,” he said gravely. “You mustn’t blame yourself for believing his lies.”

“Believing his…?” Robb felt lightheaded. His knees buckled.

Hal hurried to catch him. “I’ll fetch the maester.” He lowered Robb into the chair Theon had been sitting in, now empty, and hurried from the room.

Robb sat there numbly for several seconds, just looking around the room. Looking for traces of their tryst. There were none. It seemed impossible. Theon had been so wild and savage, pulling at Robb’s hair as Robb had entered him, yowling like a cat and writhing so that his skin slid along Robb’s. He could still feel it, smooth, slick with sweat. The intensity as Theon had pressed in around him, drawing out his own animal-like sounds. Collapsing afterwards, Theon’s head cradled on his chest, their breathing heavy.

All of it…another game? Meant to leave Robb worn and vulnerable?

Robb ran a hand through his hair, then laughed. Yes, he’d really been taken in. He’d been looking forward to waking up with Theon in his arms, bringing him into the household fold of Winterfell, _civilizing_ him. His own naiveté struck him then, and he laughed harder. “You’re such a fool, Lord Stark,” he muttered to himself.

At least Hal believed that his clothes had been _stolen_.


	10. Brought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TerryPratchett’sASongofIceandFire: 
> 
> _Theon is very surprised to find his uptight and slightly unpleasant boss attending the Stark family Christmas gathering as Jon's plus-one._
> 
> I had fun with this one. (I have fun with all of them, but letting Jon have his revenge on Theon without even knowing it was just _too_ fun.) Hope it's close enough to what you wanted.

“Welcome, sir and madam.” Rickon, dressed in his tiny suit, held out his arms. “May I take your coats?”

Kyra put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Here, twerp,” Theon said, unloading his winter coat into the tyke’s arms.

Rickon stuck out his tongue, then waddled away to put the coats wherever Mrs. Stark had told him to—or maybe hide Theon’s somewhere. You could never tell with that kid.

“Never seen him so well-behaved,” Theon said, linking his arm in Kyra’s as they made their way into the Stark household.

The warmth from the room burned his fingertips and ears as he entered, and he could see Kyra’s growing red as well. A big fire in the big fireplace gave the room a comforting heat, while the slightly dimmed lights overhead made the large den feel more intimate and cozy. Quite the achievement for a shindig this size. Nobody, but nobody, did Christmas like the Starks. Even unfashionably early, they weren’t the first ones here. At least a dozen people were milling about, plates of hors d’oeuvres in one hand, glasses of champagne in the other. All dressed to the nines, naturally.

He felt Kyra pull her hand away from him and start patting down her hair. “All these people in their nice clothes,” she said. “I must look like something that cat spat up next to them.”

Theon took her hand gently. “Nonsense. My dear, you are absolutely ravishing.” He placed his other arm around her waist and dipped her, the way he’d learned to do during dancing lessons. She squealed and laughed. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

When he pulled her back up, she swatted his arm. “You say that to all your girlfriends. Ros told me you used the same line on her.”

“Yes, but only because Ros was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met…until I met you.”

She swatted him again, and he placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll go get us something to drink.”

He slipped away from her and made his way to the hors d’oeuvres table. A whole army of champagne glasses met him, flanked by at least a dozen champagne bottles just waiting to be opened. Theon reached for one, but a hand on his own stopped him. “Mother told me to keep an eye on your alcohol intake tonight,” Robb, in a suit almost identical to Rickon’s, said, taking the bottle from Theon’s hands. “After what happened last year…”

Theon grinned. “No lasting damage, right?”

Robb sighed and pulled the cork out with _pop_. “I see you brought Kyra as your plus-one.”

“Hope she’s not too low-class for the high and mighty Starks.”

Robb frowned. “Of course not.” He began to pour. “Why would you even think that? _You_ get invited every year, don’t you?”

“Point taken. And I suppose if your mother can tolerate Jon’s wildling of a girlfriend…”

Robb went on to the next glass while the bubbles in the first settled. “Yeah, about that. Do me a favor and don’t mention Ygritte in front of Jon tonight, alright?”

“Why not? Had a falling out, did they?”

“Of a sort.” Robb finished the second glass and topped the first one off. “Let’s just say, Jon may have had to file a restraining order.”

“Ah.” Theon took the two glasses and lifted one. “Certainly knows his way with the ladies. That’s our Jon.”

“Don’t tell him I said anything. In fact…” Robb put a hand on Theon’s shoulder and leaned in. “Maybe don’t bother him at all tonight. He hasn’t been taking the breakup very well.”

“I’ll try,” Theon said, which was the best he could promise.

“Good.” Robb patted his shoulder. “Change of subject. How’s life treating you?”

“Me? Oh, you know, living the dream. School’s a bitch. Work’s a bitch. Rent’s a bitch. Life’s just one, big bitch.”

Robb frowned again.

“Just kidding, mate. I’m fine. Got a little time off from work, away from my boss. And coming to your party gets me off the hook of going to my folks’ for the holidays, so it’s all good.” He took a long swig of champagne. There was always something satisfying about drinking it quickly, mostly the scandalized looks he got of the snobs. 

He found his way back to Kyra so she wouldn’t have to defend herself against these self-same snobs. They could smell fear and uncertainty, and he was glad to get back to her before they began circling like hyenas. He handed her a champagne flute and clinked his own against hers in salute. “Merry Christmas, Auld Lang Syne and all that shit,” he toasted.

She took a hesitant sip. “This party is just so…fancy,” she admitted, swirling the contents of her glass. “I really feel like I stick out.”

“You’re fine,” he said. “Just wait until Arya gets here. Then you’ll be the most inconspicuous person in the room. I know for a fact that she’ll be dressed down, and last time I saw her, she had this really dykey haircut. When Jon was seeing Ygritte, Mrs. Stark used to have nightmares about the two of them ruining one of her fancy parties. Guess that’s one person who’s not so sad to see the wild one gone.” _He_ was, though. He’d liked Ygritte. A free spirit among all these uptight jerkwards.

“Oh, did she and Jon break up? I saw him come in earlier, with someone else.”

Theon raised his eyebrows at that. “With someone else? Do tell.”

She waved her hand, as if shooing a fly. “A man.”

“A man?” he barked. “Now I _have_ to know.”

Kyra pointed, as discretely as possible, across the room, towards the big fireplace. Theon followed her finger, and sure enough, there was Jon’s dark head. And clothes. And general demeanor. Talk about a ghost at the feast. There was a guy who could bring an entire room’s mood down. Knowing Jon, he’d get along famously with Theon’s boss. Well, if Jon was on the market again and looking, maybe he could make some connections happen.

He chuckled to himself, thinking of his boss and Jon in the same room, staring dourly at each other, neither one smiling or even blinking.

“So…who’s his plus-one?” Theon asked.

Kyra’s finger moved to the left, to the baldheaded man standing next to Jon. And God, it must be suggestibility or something, because Theon’s boss also had a bald head and he’d just been thinking about the man. And then the guy turned, as if he could feel eyes on him, and met Theon’s gaze from across the room.

Theon froze.

Shit!

“Shit!” he hissed.

Kyra nearly spilled her champagne as Theon grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind the Christmas tree, out of sight. “What is it?” she asked, bewildered. “What’s wrong?”

“My boss is here,” he explained.

“Your boss? Mr. Baratheon?”

“Mr. Buzzkill Baratheon,” Theon corrected. “Shit, what’s he doing here?” He tried to think. Mr. Stark was friends with Robert Baratheon, but there was no way _he_ would have invited his little brother to an event like this.

“I think he’s Jon’s plus-one.”

“What?” Theon looked at her, then stood on tiptoes to peek out from between the tree’s boughs. Stannis “Buzzkill” Baratheon had gone back to the conversation at hand, but Theon was sure he’d been spotted. “The guy with the bald head and the beard? That’s Jon’s plus-one?”

Kyra nodded.

“Shit! I can’t let him see me.”

“Do we have to stay behind here all night?” Kyra toed one of the presents beneath the tree, though Theon knew they were all just empty boxes that had been wrapped to look pretty for the occasion.

“No.” Theon ran a hand through his hair. “No, of course not.” Truthfully, he’d panicked. Now that he had his bearings, he could figure out a way to handle this. “It’s a big house. We can probably ignore them all night.” Yes, maybe this was the excuse he’d been looking for to show Kyra the upstairs of the Starks’ home. And the many empty rooms—wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

“How do you suppose Jon knows your boss?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Theon quickly finished the rest of his champagne. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I just mean…I don’t know Jon that well, but he never struck me as the type to seek out a…a sugar daddy.”

Theon’s glass slipped from his fingers. Thankfully it was empty and fell on the tree skirt, so there was no mess all over the Starks’ perfect little display. “What?” He turned to Kyra. “What did you just say?” He’d heard her, of course. God, he wished he hadn’t, because when he chanced another glance at the two of them—Jon and Stannis—and saw the older man put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he couldn’t _not_ see it.

Oh God, were Jon and Stannis…were they, like…an item? Stannis was rich; he owned the company Theon worked for. And Jon was…Jon was a pretty boy. Was it possible…he was…they were…? Suddenly, Theon couldn’t unsee it.

“It just seems odd,” Kyra said with a shrug. “I thought you said your boss was married.”

Yeah, with a daughter and everything. Although it was no secret that the marriage had been on the rocks for years. And Theon had always suspected something was going on between Stannis and his secretary. But Jon? No. No way. Okay, now he needed to know.

He bent, picked up the empty glass, and shoved it into Kyra’s hand. “Be a doll and get me another drink,” he said.

Kyra frowned at the doll part, but went to do as she was asked. Theon promised to make it up to her later. Possibly sooner, rather, on one of the Starks’ beds upstairs. But right now, he had to do some quick recon. Hopefully without getting caught by his boss. He did not want to be drawn into a conversation, not on his week off.

Surreptitiously, he rounded the side of the tree and made a winding path through the room, using the taller guests for cover. This way, he managed to make his way to the fireplace, one of those modern designs in the middle of the room, two faces spewing heat in different directions. He slunk around the far side and sat on the wide ledge there, pretending to be warming his back as he kept his eye on the group around the corner.

“So, Stannis…” That was Rickard Karstark, a Stark family friend and possibly distance relative. Theon had never bothered to find out what, exactly, because Karstark was a blowhard. “What do you do? Went into the family business, did you?”

“Actually, I have my own business,” Stannis said, biting out each word with deliberation. “Burning Hart Security. I built it from the ground up, with my own two hands. There is no chance of Robert running this venture into the ground.”

“Ah,” Karstark agreed. “And how did you two…uh…” His index finger drifted from Stannis to Jon and back. “Meet?”

Okay, that question was romantic in nature. You didn’t ask casual acquaintances how they met, did you? But then again, it wasn’t as if Karstark was the most socially graceful man at the party.

Jon fiddled with his bowtie. “Well, Burning Hart was installing some equipment at the compound and I just happened to be running the shift when they were in. Stannis is a very hands-on boss.”

Theon could agree with that. Stannis was always looking over his shoulder, pointing out errors if he found them, or telling him to change this or that. But perhaps Jon meant something else, because Stannis’s hand brushed down Jon’s spine and landed on the small of his back. Okay, that was weird, right? Casual acquaintances didn’t just…touch each other like that, right?

“He was there overseeing things,” Jon continued, and Stannis’s hand dropped away. “As it turns out, I have a friend who works in his tech department. You know Theon, right? Well, that was the opener. We got to talking, and Stannis asked me out—”

Theon’s throat clenched.

“—for a round of golf.”

“Ah, I see how it is.” Karstark gave Stannis a knowing wink. “Trying to get him to yourself, eh?”

Theon cringed.

“Trying to steal him away from his company to come work for yours.”

Stannis’s face remained impassive. “Mr. Snow has remarkable potential,” he said evenly. “I’d hate to see him waste it on menial security.” He turned stiffly to Jon. “Burning Hart is going places, Jon, and I have a place for you at the top ranks if you ever decide to take me up on my offer.”

Jon blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I’ll think about it, Mr. Baratheon.”

Theon felt himself relax. If they were dating, Jon wouldn’t call him “Mr. Baratheon.” Unless it was some sort of…weird, kinky thing. He shuddered at the thought.

“I can offer you plenty of benefits.”

“Oh, I know,” Jon said. “Theon seems pretty happy with his benefits.”

“Yes, he is a good worker,” Stannis said with a curt nod. “I had my reservations at first, and he never has anything done a minute before the deadline. But you cannot argue with results. The young man gets things done.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jon said with a roll of his eyes.

Theon wasn’t sure if he should be offended or flattered. He never imagined that his boss, King Grouchy Buzzkill the Third, would ever call him a “good worker.” What was this feeling? Recognition? Recognition for hard work done well? Or maybe it was just the fire. It was getting pretty toasty in here.

He jumped when a champagne glass was shoved into his face. He looked up to see Kyra, waiting expectantly for him to take it. “Thank you,” he said, downing it in one gulp, earning another frown from her. He could feel the first glass already working, just barely dulling the sharp edges of his awareness. The second glass might get him full-on tipsy.

“I thought you were going to lie low,” she said, nodding sideways towards Stannis.

Theon wiped his mouth with his sleeve, stood, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Yeah, I’ll show you the rest of the house. How about that?”

She giggled into her hand. “Sounds charming, Mr. Greyjoy.”

They walked away, taking the long way around the fireplace so as to avoid detection by Stannis, Jon, or anyone, really. Theon did chance a glance back at the two of them though, standing side by side. Looking equally uncomfortable to be here, wearing nearly identical not-smiles. Whether they were dating or not, he had to admit that they made a matching pair.


	11. Spoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hareiya asked for: 
> 
> _Robb/Theon/Jon where Robb is jealous of Theon's growing relationship with Jon, while Jon is secretly enjoying having something that Robb wanted._
> 
> This can be read as a sequel to the chapter "Hushed," or it can stand alone.
> 
> Warnings for a teensy, tiny amount of incest, if that's not your thing.

Robb had never considered himself a jealous person. But then again, perhaps he’d never had anything to _be_ jealous _of_. Perhaps he still didn’t—it was irrational, but, dammit, there was something _going on_ between Jon and Theon.

It wasn’t normal for those two to be laughing with each other, clapping each other on the back, sharing _looks_ between them. At first Robb thought he must be imagining it. Theon obviously hadn’t meant to brush his hand against Jon’s during dinner. Jon obviously hadn’t smiled at Theon during Maester Luwen’s lesson.  Then he _knew_ he was imagining it when, during an otherwise typical sparring match, he thought he saw Theon swat Jon on the ass. Because if he actually had, Jon would have whirled around and clocked him in the face, or at least glowered at him. As it was, he simply went about his routine.

_I’m seeing things_ , Robb thought, though vowed to keep his eyes on them. When it was their turn to spar together, everything seemed normal enough. Jon was clearly the better at swordplay, but Theon fought back with wordplay, spitting barbs meant to faze Jon and throw him off his game. At least, that was what Robb assumed. It didn’t seem to be working, with Jon smiling, laughing, and even occasionally throwing his own insult into the mix. If Robb didn’t know better, he’d say it was playful banter.

He continued to watch them, at the expense of his own training, and Ser Rodrik scolded him several times for failing to parry an easy blow. “You’re distracted,” he said, cuffing Robb on the ear at the end of the day. “You get distracted during a _real_ battle and you’ll be dead. Think about that while you’re putting everything back in the armory.”

Robb opened his mouth to protest, but to his surprise, Jon spoke up first. “That’s fine, Rodrik. Theon and I can take care of that.”

“I appreciate the offer, lad, but I’m trying to teach your brother a lesson about keeping his mind on the task at hand.”

“He told me this morning he wasn’t feeling too well,” Jon said, once again speaking before Robb even got the chance. “I think you should let him go rest. Like I said, Theon and I will clean everything up.”

Rodrik grumbled a, “Very well. Have it your way.”

Jon began gathering up the blunted sparring swords and the training armor, and Theon, without so much as a word of protest for being volunteered for the task, went to help him. Robb watched them, now uncertain if he truly was seeing things or if they were, indeed, looking at each other, smiling, speaking some unspoken language. They finished their task quickly and hurried to the armory, arms laden. Robb watched them go.

“Here.” He nearly jumped with Rodrik nudged him in the side and handed him the sword he favored for sparring. “They forgot this. You’re not too sick to carry a single sword are you?”

Robb shook his head and took the sword. Then jogged to catch up with Jon and Theon, who had disappeared inside the armory.

He picked up his pace at the alarming clanging sound of metal on metal. They weren’t fighting, were they? He should have known something was amiss. He ran in to break up the fight—a blunted sword could still do a fair amount of damage, after all—and came up short as he rounded the corner into the armory. The weapons and armor had been discarded on the ground, the metal still ringing. That explained the clanging sound, but where were…?

Robb crept in slowly, uncertain what he would find.

As it turned out, he found Jon with Theon pushed up against the wall. They weren’t talking or making any noise really, just kind of…moving a bit. Robb frowned in confusion. What was going on? Should he break them up or…?

Jon pulled back with a gasp, and Theon laughed. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

“You _like_ it when I’m rough, don’t you?” Jon shot back.

Theon shrugged, an obvious sign of surrender. “I have to say, I never expected you to have the balls.”

Jon jammed a knee between Theon’s legs. The only thing that kept Robb from running out from behind his cover was the lewd moan Theon gave. “You’re always underestimating me, Greyjoy.” Jon’s tone was playful, with a husky tone beneath it. Robb wasn’t certain he’d ever heard Jon’s voice like that. “I’m more than capable of handling the likes of you.”

“Oh? Are you?” In a flash, Theon had thrown Jon off and they were rolling around on the ground.

Robb felt relief, because now at least he knew what was going on. They were wrestling. Theon, being older and taller, was able to pin Jon, straddling his chest and holding his arms above his head. Robb gathered himself up to put an end to this, but stopped again when Theon leaned in close and pressed his lips against Jon’s.

Alright. That was not wrestling. That was definitely a kiss.

And Jon…Jon was not fighting back. At least insomuch that he was not trying to buck Theon off. He met the kiss roughly and ground his hips up between Theon’s legs.

Robb took a staggering step backwards. What was this? His brother and his best friend were…?

Something clattered at his feet. He stumbled and realized he’d tripped over the pile of weapons. When he regained his footing, both Jon and Theon had stopped their kiss and were staring at him, eyes wide in horror. Robb ducked his head and ran from the armory as fast as he could.

 

***

 

“Robb! We need to talk!”

Robb didn’t feel like talking, so he kept going, even as the sound of Jon’s footsteps became faster.

“Robb, wait!”

Robb didn’t feel like waiting, so he didn’t. He’d been successfully avoiding the both of them—Jon _and_ Theon—for two days now. If he could just make it to his room, he could lock the door and avoid them for a third.

Too bad Jon caught up with him and grabbed him by the wrist. “We need to talk about what happened in the armory.”

“Nothing,” Robb answered, yanking his wrist free. He didn’t want to look in Jon’s eyes. He didn’t want to hear his voice. “Nothing happened.”

“About what you saw—me and Theon—”

“How long?” Robb interrupted.

Jon’s mouth flapped open, wordlessly. “A month?”

“ _A month_?” Robb fired back, mimicking Jon’s uncertain tone.

“That day we went out hunting,” Jon continued. “Just the three of us.”

He should have guessed. He _would_ have guessed. The two of them had been sniping at each other all day, but had been unusually silent on the hunt, distracted. Robb had been surprised when he was the one to shoot a grouse and had assumed that Theon had let him—there was no way, between the two of them, that Robb was the quicker draw. Or the quicker eye.

“It just…happened,” Jon went on, timidly.

“How could you?”

“I never meant for you to see—”

“He’s my brother!” Robb snapped, silencing Jon. “ _My_ brother, not _yours_. You have no right. You can’t…”

Jon stared at him, his face bewildered and frightened, the way it had looked in the armory that day. “Robb…”

Robb realized he’d said too much and turned to go.

Jon ran to block his path. “Robb, do you think I did this to hurt you? I swear, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I would _never_.”

“But you _knew_ ,” Robb countered. “You knew that Theon and I…that we…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not with you.”

He pulled away, and this time Jon let him go. As he continued on his way to his room—where he could lock himself in for the rest of the evening—he tried to push Jon’s injured expression from his mind.

 

***

 

There was a knock.

“Go away!” Robb called. “I’m sleeping!”

In truth, he was nowhere near sleeping. The sun had been down for hours, and he’d already burned through two candles, just sitting at his desk, rifling through books that held no interest to him. He’d tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the two of them together…laughing at him…mocking him…

Another knock.

“I said go away!” Robb called again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Theon’s voice said, “I didn’t realize this was _Sansa’s_ room. Perhaps you could direct me to _Robb’s_ room.”

Robb stood, threw on a robe, and unlatched the door, opening it just enough to see Theon’s smug grin. “What do you want?”

“I’d like my best friend to stop acting like a little girl.”

Robb gritted his teeth. “Isn’t Jon your best friend now?”

“Jon?” Theon snorted. “You mean that bastard I fool around with sometimes? You really think he’s my best friend? Perhaps you thought Kyra was my best friend when I was seeing her. Never saw you so pissy about _her_ , though.”

“Yes, well, because…” _Because when it was a girl, I knew I didn’t stand a chance with you_. “Because she’s not my brother, now, is she?”

“Is that what you’re angry about? Really?” Theon leaned on the door, trying to open it farther.

Robb pushed back. “I’m not angry. I’m just looking out for my brother.”

“Looking out for him by ignoring him?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Robb tried to slam the door closed, but Theon had his foot over the threshold.

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t come here to talk.”

“What?” For the first time, Robb looked seriously into Theon’s face. What he’d taken for nonchalance was more and more beginning to look like lasciviousness. The lowered eyelids, the pouty lips. Feeling stupid but wanting to know he hadn’t misread the situation, Robb asked, “Are you…trying to seduce me?”

“That’s the idea.” Theon jutted his hip against the door, knocking Robb’s resistance back. “So…are you going to invite me or what?”

“You…can’t be serious,” Robb stammered. His mind was whirling, and he almost opened the door to let Theon in. He regained his senses just in time. “First you string Jon along and now you’re running around behind his back? And you expect me to go along with that? I’m not going to help you hurt him.”

“Oh, Jon knows I’m here. In fact, he’s the one who suggested this. So think of this as a peace offering, alright?”

Robb shook his head. “You’re lying.”

“You don’t believe me? Do you want me to get Jon so you can hear for yourself?”

“Yes.”

Theon blinked, as if he hadn’t been expecting that. “Alright,” he said. “Wait here.”

He left so abruptly that Robb fell against the door, slamming it closed. He considered locking it, but in the end, he simply stood there, studying the wood grain until he heard a knock. Then he opened up, far too quickly. It was Jon.

“Please,” he said. “Take Theon’s offer. I gave him permission to do it. It’s my apology.”

“Apology?”

“For…taking something you wanted,” Jon said. “I admit, I kind of like having something you didn’t. But…not at the expense of you hating me.”

“You think I hate you?” Robb choked. He grabbed Jon’s shoulders and shook him. “I could never hate you. You’re my _brother_ , Jon.”

“But you won’t talk to me anymore. You don’t want me around.”

“Because I’m being petulant,” Robb bit back. _Are you that thick_? he wanted to scream, channeling his inner Theon.

“I don’t want this to come between us,” Jon said. “This thing with Theon…I _do_ like it, but I’d rather _you_ were happy. You can have Theon.”

“Do I not get a say in this?”

Robb looked up, startled at the sound of Theon’s voice, and found him leaning against the wall just outside the door. How long had been standing there? This entire time? Listening to them talk about him as if he were a thing to trade back and forth.

“I would like, if I may,” Theon said, pushing off from the wall, “to offer a solution to this problem.” He pressed himself in between them and clapped a hand on either of their shoulders, drawing them in close. “I propose that I _do_ come between you. If you know what I mean.”

Robb saw his own startled expression mirrored on Jon’s face. He wondered if he was as bright red as the other boy, though. “You…can’t be serious,” he said.

“Robb, you should know me by now. I’m always dead serious,” Theon said with a laugh.

“But, I mean…how would that work?”

“Easy.” He pushed Robb, pulled Jon, and all three of them were in the room together, door closer behind them. “Robb, kiss me.”

“But I—”

“Do it,” Jon snapped, startling not only Robb, but also Theon and, evidently, himself.

Robb was so startled—and perhaps a little turned on—that he grabbed the back of Theon’s head and pulled him down for a kiss. It was his first kiss, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should he keep his eyes open? Where was his nose supposed to go? Luckily, Theon took charge in the last second before their lips met. Well-practiced lips found his own, gentle at first, a teasing touch. Theon drew back to gage his reaction and, finding none, pressed in again, deeper this time. Wetter.

Robb moaned into it.

He heard the sounds of…growling? He pulled away from the kiss, even as Theon chased him, to find Jon standing behind Theon, arms wrapped around the older boy’s waist, mouth latched onto Theon’s neck. Had he…growled just now? He was sucking at the spot on Theon’s neck like it was a bone he was trying to draw marrow from, and their eyes met over Theon’s shoulder. Jon pulled back to reveal a bright red mark just under Theon’s collar. And then he…smiled at Robb. Smiled a predatory smile full of teeth.

“Don’t stop,” Theon commanded, and he grabbed Robb again.

“Can I stop long enough to lock the door?”

Theon paused, then snarled, “Be quick about it.” Actually snarled. Was he locking himself in with a couple of animals? Yes, probably. No, he didn’t mind.

Robb hurried to latch the lock on the door, and when he turned back, Jon had taken advantage of his absence to claim Theon’s lips for his own. Robb felt his own animal take hold. He flew back, tore Theon out of Jon’s grasp, and pushed him onto the bed. Theon let out a bark of laughter and grabbed onto Robb’s nightshirt, pulling him down on the mattress with him. Underneath Robb, he squirmed and bucked his hips upwards.

Robb began ravaging his neck with kisses, latching onto the mark Jon had left and working his own over it.

Theon moaned and continued to squirm. Robb, however, froze when he felt the mattress dip at his side. He paused, turning away from Theon’s warm skin, to see Jon perched there, watching them with heavily dilated eyes. “You two look good together,” he said. “You two belong together.” He was giving Robb a chance to dismiss him, to take Theon for himself.

Robb was having none of it. He lifted himself off of Theon so that he could take Jon’s face between his hands. Lead him in slowly. And plant a gentle kiss on his lips. Not the sort of kiss he’d shared with Theon but…

Jon’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t pull away.

“Is this…alright?” Robb asked.

Jon was silent for a moment. “We’re brothers.”

“ _Theon_ is my brother too.”

“Yes, but…” He said no more.

“Is this _alright_?” Robb repeated. He didn’t care to know whether this was right or wrong, that they were men doing these things, that they were sharing partners. He wanted to know that this would not ruin his relationship with Jon.

At last, Jon nodded. “Yes,” he said, returning the kiss. “Yes, this is alright.”


	12. (Un)Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elisabetta: 
> 
> _Perhaps you may write a story where Robb plans a surprise romantic dinner for Theon to pamper him when he comes home from work but Theon instead cries because he doesn't believe that Robb can love him after all of the bad things his former boy-friend Ramsay has done to him and he hates himself (please no Ramsay appearance though). Cue tons of hurt and comfort!_
> 
> Side effects of reading this story might include but are not limited to: feelings of numbness in the teeth, loss of teeth, or spontaneous diabetes.

Tonight had to be perfect. There was simply no other alternative.

Robb had been planning this evening all week, and the night before, he was jittery with anticipation. It took all his will power not to bolt out of bed in the morning, but rather to see Theon off, wish him a good day, and then hurry to set everything up.

He was in the midst of arranging the flowers just right when Jon came by with the groceries—the largest, freshest cut of salmon he could get from the docks, as well as a fancy wine from the Starks’ wine cellar. “It’s nice that you’re putting all this thought into it,” Jon said, watching Robb as he got on his hands and knees to make sure the white tablecloth was even—it wasn’t! “But you know, this _is_ Theon we’re talking about. He’s not exactly…” He waved his hand about noncommittally.

“No, everything has to be perfect.” Robb adjusted the tablecloth, which only made it uneven in a different spot! “Theon deserves for everything to be perfect.”

“I think he’s happy enough just having you,” Jon said.

Robb continued to fiddle with the tablecloth.

 

***

 

Robb checked the clock. Then his watch. The adjusted his tie. Then checked his watch again.

Theon was three minutes late. He usually got in at 4:33 and it was now 4:36. Had something happened? An accident? A panic attack? Theon had them, sometimes. He would have called Robb if something happened, right? Unless he couldn’t get to his phone.

Robb checked the clock. 4:37.

Where was he?

The door handle jiggled, and Robb bounced up and down on his feet in anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his boyfriend’s face when he walked through the door and saw how Robb had set up the apartment. The mood lighting, created from a shear red scarf thrown over a lampshade; the rose petals leading to the table, with its pristine presentation and the fine wine chilling in a bucket by the bouquet of flowers; the smell of the salmon dinner cooking in the kitchen; Robb, dressed in his finest charcoal suit.

The door opened, Theon came in, eyes on the floor. “I’m home,” he called.

Then immediately froze.

He lifted his head and took in everything with a bewildering expression. Finally, his gaze landed on Robb. “What…?” He took a step in, courier bag dropping limply from his hand. “What is all this?”

“It’s, uh…it’s a romantic dinner,” Robb fumbled. “For you?”

Theon stared at him a moment, then looked around the room once more. “You did all this…for me?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Why?”

Robb froze. That wasn’t the response he’d been looking for. Okay, maybe he’d secretly hoped Theon would swoon and he’d have to carry him to the couch and fortify him with some kissing and then they’d have dinner and eat until Theon was so full that the only thing he could tolerate was slow, worshipful lovemaking in the bedroom—also covered in rose petals… That was silly, because that wasn’t Theon, he knew that. But…but maybe a smile?

“Why would you do this for me?” Theon repeated. He took a step backwards. “You didn’t have to. I’m not worth any of this.”

“Of course you are.” Maybe he was just surprised. Maybe he needed time to unwind from work. “Look.” Robb pulled the wine from the bucket. He’d uncorked it exactly a half hour ago to let it breathe. “Um, would you like some Chardonnay? I hear it’s the best thing to pair with salmon, so—”

Theon began to slump backwards.

Robb abandoned the wine and hurried to his boyfriend’s side. He was vaguely aware that the bottle had landed on its side and was now pouring wine all over the tablecloth, but mostly he was aware of Theon, the paleness of his face and the way his entire body was trembling. He began thrashing in Robb’s arms, trying to get up. Robb let him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The wine. It’s spilling…” Theon struggled to his feet, clawing his way towards the table.

Robb stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“No, it’s spilling—there won’t be any left—I’m not worth—”

Robb pulled him back against his chest. “It’s just a stupid wine. What about you? Are you alright?”

“No, it’s not. It’s your wine, and you were probably saving it for a special occasion.”

Since it was bothering him so much, Robb said, “I’ll take care of it. You go lie down on the couch.”

Well, maybe the swooning and the couch were in the plans after all. Theon went to go lie down while Robb righted the wine and mopped up the mess. The tablecloth was soaked, but he bunched that up and threw it into the laundry to be dealt with later. The wine was half-gone, but so what? The roses still looked pretty. Robb took the vase and brought it with him to the couch. Screw the table. They could eat here.

Theon looked dispassionately at the flowers. “Are those for me too?”

“Of course.” Robb sat down next to him and planted a kiss on his hairline. “Bouquet d’Or. I ordered them for you special.”

Theon moved away from the kiss. “They sound expensive.”

Robb pulled away too. He knew Theon’s history, knew not to push him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I do something wrong? Did I do something to make you think of…him?”

Theon was quiet for a minute. “He never bought me flowers. Or made me dinner. No one has ever…” He turned away, and Robb suspected it was so he could hide tears. He couldn’t hide the breaking of his voice, though. “Why would you do all this for me? Or any of it, really?”

“Um, because you’re my boyfriend and I want to spoil you? Because I love you?”

Theon shook his head.

“You don’t believe me?”

“How am I ever supposed to _repay_ you for all of this?”

“What?”

“All I have is my dead-end job and my body, which, let’s be honest here, isn’t in the shape it once was. I don’t… _have_ anything else.”

Robb was flabbergasted. “Theon, you don’t have to repay me for anything. Is that what you—?” He placed a hand against Theon’s cheek and gently steered his face so their eyes could meet. “All I want is _you_. Not your body, not anything you could buy with money.”

Theon sniffled. “But I—”

“Shh,” Robb hissed. “I did all this because you’re my boyfriend, and it makes me happy when you’re happy. The only thing I want from this relationship is whatever you want from it. And if you don’t want me to make a big fuss—”

A shrill beeping blasted over the last of his words. The two of them jumped from the sofa and looked around in a panic before realizing it was the fire alarm in the kitchen.

“Shit!” Robb said, running into the cloud of white smoke billowing from inside. “The salmon! It’s burned!” He pulled the oven open, reached for the pan, rethought that and grabbed an oven mitt, then reached for the pan and set it on the stove to cool. Burnt to a crisp. With a heavy sigh, he went to turn off the fire alarm.

While he was on the phone with the landlord, telling him about the incident and that no evacuation of the building would be necessary, Theon crept into the kitchen and stood in front of the stove, staring at the blackened salmon in the pan.

“Sorry,” Robb winced, hanging up. “I wasn’t watching and…I ruined your dinner. I’ll…throw it out.”

Theon shook his head. “No sense in wasting good food.”

“Yeah, _good_ food.”

 Theon looked at him with his puppy dog face, the one Robb could never turn down. And it was worse this time, because his eyes were rimmed with red from crying. He looked like a lost child. “Nobody’s ever cooked anything for me. Not when it wasn’t at a restaurant. Please don’t throw it away?”

Robb sighed. “Okay.” He opened the drawer with the cutlery and pulled out a fork.

Even though the salmon was burnt pretty badly, he was still able to carve a hunk of it away and spear it, which he held out to Theon, intending his boyfriend to take the fork. Instead, Theon opened his mouth.

“What? Really?” Robb laughed, but finished the distance from the salmon chunk to Theon’s mouth.

Theon’s lips wrapped around the fork in an obscene manner that had Robb pretty much instantly tight in the pants. “It’s good,” he said, obviously a lie because he had not even really taken the time to let the taste linger on his tongue. “I’ve never had anything better in my life.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m starving. Can I have more?”

Well, who was Robb to protest?

He hand-fed Theon several more bites, before taking a break to feed himself. The salmon was brittle on his tongue, like fishy charcoal. “It’s disgusting,” he announced.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” Theon protested.

They looked each other, staring each other down, daring the other to break first. It was Theon who let out the first chuckle, and Robb who followed after him.

Robb flung the fork into the sink and, abandoning dinner altogether, swept Theon up in his arms. It was unwieldy, certainly, but Theon had never fully gained back all of his healthy bodyweight. He wrapped his arms around Robb’s neck as they made their way to the bedroom. And only laughed when Robb clumsily knocked his head against the doorframe trying to get in.

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry,” Robb hurried. “Are you…? We don’t have to…”

Theon shook his head. “I really don’t deserve you. You do all this for me, and then I go and make you think you’ve done something wrong.”

The rose petals didn’t seem like such a good idea now, as they clung to the smooth soles of his fancy shoes and nearly caused him to trip into the nightstand.  “You deserve a better boyfriend,” he said as he laid Theon out on the bed.

“Yeah? Well, let me know if you ever find one.”

They made slow, passionate love all night long. Or at least for about twenty minutes, after which they curled up in each other arms. Theon fell asleep first, and Robb watched his face become peaceful. It certainly hadn’t been the perfect night he’d been planning, but maybe Jon had been right. If Theon was happy with this, right now, then Robb was happy too. Not a perfect night, but a single, perfect moment.


	13. Lulled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amanda asked for: 
> 
> _A h/c continuation of the slave punishment fic in A Touch of Darkfic. Could you have Theon getting medical treatment for his injuries after the poker incident, and the maester takes pity on him and gives him some milk of the poppy secretly? Optional if Roose tells Ramsay he's gone too far and tells Theon it won't happen again, and he cries in response._
> 
> Prequels can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6175846/chapters/14516920) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6175846/chapters/14558806). 
> 
> They are darkfics, so heed the warnings if you go to read. If not, then all you need to know is that Theon is a slave who served Robb Stark for many years and was not accustomed to Ramsay's brand of cruelty. Additional warnings for not-too-terrible-graphic mentions of violence, rape, and resulting injuries from such.

He dreamt that his mother was holding him and singing to him. An old lullaby he hadn’t heard since his days serving at Balon Greyjoy’s house. When they’d sent him off to auction, he’d known he would never see his mother again. But here she was now, when it felt like he needed her the most. He clung to her.

“Everything hurts.”

“I know,” she said, a gentle hand in his hair. “I’ve asked the maester to give you some more milk of the poppy.”

Theon whimpered and curled into her. His entire body was so hot, burning up, but her warmth was comforting. She continued singing.

The next time he became aware, he couldn’t move. He almost panicked, but his years of training kicked in before he could fight against whatever was restraining him. _Be good_ , he thought. _If you cannot move, it is because Master does not want you to move_. It all came back to him—the punishment he’d (rightly) been given for following Roose’s orders over Ramsay’s. Ramsay was his Master. He should not have disobeyed him. He deserved this.

He opened his eyes and realized he couldn’t move because his right arm was in a cast up to his shoulder, while his left leg was in a suspended cast up to his knee. His torso was wrapped in bandages, clean and white and with no sign of blood anywhere. He could wiggle his hips just a little bit, but that caused a new wave of unimaginable pain to lace its way up his spine and into his jaw. He cried out, and immediately a man was by his side.

The man wore no collar, but the chains of a maester—which was a type of collar, Theon supposed. He placed a hand on Theon’s forehead and pressed it back into the pillow. “Don’t try to move too much,” he said. “You’ll pull the stitches out.”

“Stitches?”

“You’ve sustained considerable damage to your…body. I admit, I wasn’t sure if you would survive, especially when the sepsis set in. But you pulled through, thanks in no small part to my medical expertise.” The man puffed up with pride.

Theon had no idea what he was talking about.

The man saw this and coughed awkwardly into his fist. “You’re resting in one of the Boltons’ guestrooms while you recover.” He paused. “You may be recovering for a while.”

He turned and began fiddling with something on the side table.

“Where is Master Ramsay?” Theon’s voice felt like sandpaper coming out of his throat. His jaw hurt almost worse than anything else, except…well, except the obvious thing.

The maester stopped what he was doing. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

“I need to go to him. I need to be by my Master’s side.”

“He is being disciplined for his behavior,” the maester said. “I have been told to inform you that you will no longer be serving him.”

No longer serving him? Then that meant…

Theon wanted to cry. His new Master was getting rid of him after one day, sending him back to auction. Who would ever purchase a returned slave? He’d probably end up in a brothel somewhere, some low-end place that was willing to take damaged goods. The slaves who ended up in those places never lasted long.

A cup was pressed to his lips. Obediently, he opened his mouth to take its contents. It was bittersweet and thick, and took considerable effort to swallow. He drank it all the way, until the cup was pulled back.

“That should ease the pain for a few hours,” the maester said. “I will inform Lord Roose that you are awake.”

Theon nodded meekly.

The maester shuffled from the room, and Theon was alone.

What now? How long did he have until they sent him back to the market? He hoped they would at least wait until he was able to walk again. It felt like he would never heal, though. His felt battered from the outside and…torn up from the inside, gouged out. Ripped and shredded beyond repair. There was no way they could wait that long, wait for a crippled slave to be able to do the most basic of tasks, like get out of bed. Perhaps they would cut their losses completely and simply have him…put down. Like a horse with a thrown leg.

The door opened, and in came Lord Roose himself, followed by a plump woman who only came up to about his chin. She was dressed like a lady. Another master, then. Roose wore the only expression Theon had ever seen on him—flat, unimpressed—while the woman wore a look of concern. She hurried past Roose and came up to the bed, placing a warm hand against his cheek.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “I’m so sorry this has happened to you. I would ask how you’re feeling, but I imagine it can’t be too good. Are you comfortable, at least?”

Theon nodded without really thinking about it.

“Ramsay was out of line,” Roose said, coming up behind her like a tall, grim shadow. “He is being punished.”

“It was his right,” Theon answered automatically.

“It was not his right,” Roose said. “Even if he had paid for you with his own money, it was not his right to punish you for following _my_ orders.”

“But…I disobeyed him.” Theon was unsure how much he should disagree with Lord Roose. He certainly didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker, even more than he was now.

“You obeyed me,” Roose continued. “You deduced that my approval was more important than Ramsay’s. You made an assessment of the situation at hand and acted appropriately.” He walked around the side of the bed and to the window, gazing out with his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re a creature of self-preservation, unlike Ramsay, who is too dull and simple-minded to understand that actions have consequences.”

Theon felt like he should defend his Master, but he didn’t want to be seen as arguing. He remained silent as the woman took his head and led it gently to her lap. It was awkward, bandaged as he was, but he welcomed it. Her smell was comforting and oddly…nostalgic. _Roses_ , he thought. _I haven’t smelled roses since…_

“This is my wife,” Roose said without turning around, “Walda.”

“Is this alright?” she asked, hand running through his hair. “You seemed to like it when you were having your fits earlier. It calmed you down.”

He thought it had been a dream. Only one person had ever held him so gently and with such care. He nodded, though it hurt to do so. His jaw ached terribly just from the few words he’d managed to get out, and he didn’t want to talk anymore. But he still had one rather pressing question.

“What’s to become of me?”

“We’ll be keeping you on, if that’s what you mean,” Roose answered. “You’re useless to me as a pleasure slave. And not only because of the damage you sustained during Ramsay’s ‘punishment.’ I have no need for such frivolous things. You did mention that you used to be a household servant, yes?”

Theon nodded. There was no way Roose could have seen, but he seemed to understand anyway.

“Good. When you are better, I will put you in charge of the household staff. Not a terribly physically taxing position, but one that requires a quick mind and good assessment abilities. Is that agreeable to you?”

“As you wish, my Lord,” he answered quickly, because he had been taught to accept anything his Master might offer him with gratitude. Only when the words were out of his mouth did he realize what had just happened. Lord Roose was…not going to get rid of him? He was not going to be sent back to auction? “Thank you, my Lord.”

Roose scoffed. He was not a man who appreciated platitudes. Theon filed that way for later reference. “You see, usually I take it upon myself to keep the staff in line, but due to certain unexpected events—”

“We’re going to be having a baby!” Walda squealed.

“—I will not have time for such minutiae. I will, of course, train you, though I gather you will not need much training.”

“No, my Lord,” Theon agreed quickly. “Robb Stark was never displeased with my service.” It hurt to say so much, but he so badly needed his new Master’s approval.

“Good. You will find me stern but fair. I never punish my servants the way Ramsay punished you.” Roose finally turned from the window. “ _As_ for Ramsay, you will not need to worry about him. He took up a sudden itch to join the military up north and signed on for a four-year tour, with endless options for renewal.”

Theon felt tears come to his eyes. Ramsay was gone, Roose wasn’t going to get rid of him, and the milk of the poppy was beginning to dull the pain. He clung to Walda’s dress with his good hand and tried not to weep like a child.

“The maester says you need plenty of rest while you recover,” Roose said, stalking around the bed once more. “We will leave you to your rest. Come, Walda.”

Theon tightened his grip of Walda. “No, please.”

Roose cocked his head.

“If…if it’s alright with you, my Lady, I would like you to stay.”

Walda blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly at him. Her hand went back to his hair. “Of course, dear. Shall I sing to you some more? I’m practicing my lullabies.”

“Yes, please,” Theon said. “I would like nothing more.” And it was not simply the empty platitude of a slave.


	14. Hounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The1WeLiveInNow asked for: 
> 
> _A Robb and Theon one after Robb gets Greywind and he is training him and Theon is being unhelpful as he just wants to spend some alone time with Robb._
> 
> Sorry it's on the shorter side. Hopefully it's cute enough to make up for that. ^_^

“You can’t teach a wolf to fetch,” Theon said for what felt like the twentieth time. “This is an exercise in futility, Stark.”

“It is not,” Robb argued back, trying to pull the stick from the pup’s surprisingly strong jaws. “He’s really smart. He’ll get it eventually. And once he knows how to fetch, he can go on hunting trips with us.” He managed to yank the stick free, though mostly in splinters now. “Aww,” he moaned. “Theon, watch him while I find another stick to train him with.”

Robb disappeared into the brush, leaving Theon alone on the fallen log while the direwolf pup snuffled around at his feet. For a moment, Theon contemplated kicking the mangy thing, but decided against it. He wished Snow had never found the blasted creature. The bastard was always finding a way to steal Robb’s attention away from him, and now he could do it without even being present.

This was supposed to be their time together, just him and Robb, out in the Godswood, taking time off from their lessons. When had it turned into an impromptu wolf-training lesson?

He yelped as sharp teeth bit through the leather of his boot and held on tight. “Get off me!” He grabbed the thing by the scruff of its neck, but it would not let go. Instead, it continued to gnaw on his foot. “Do I look like a chew-thing to you?”

“It means he likes you,” Robb said, red hair emerging from behind the trees. “He’s teething, and chewing gives him comfort. He doesn’t chew on just anyone.” He got to his knees and forcibly separated the two. “Enough of that, Greywind. I got something better for you to chew on.” He held up a new stick.

The pup cocked its head in confusion.

“Greywind?” Theon snorted. “That’s the name you’ve settled on?”

Robb flushed a bit, just enough to cover the faint smattering of freckles on his cheeks. “Yes.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because he’s fast, like the wind.” He tossed the stick, but the newly-dubbed Greywind only moved his head to watch where it landed. “Well, you’ve seen him run. You know how fast he is.” He came to sit on the log beside Theon, and Greywind loped up between them. Robb scratched the wolf’s ears, just now beginning to take their proper shape.

“And Grey because he’s…grey?” Theon prompted.

“Grey’s my favorite color.”

“Because it’s your family color?” Theon jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“No.” Rob ducked his head. “Not just that, at least. Otherwise white and grey would be my favorite colors. But if I had to choose one, it would be grey…”

“Just grey?” Theon teased.

“Joy? Is that what you want me to say?” Robb grinned like an idiot at the ground. “You’re right,” he said, changing the subject. Theon could hear it in his voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever get Greywind to fetch like a proper dog.”

Greywind paid no mind to this, chewing on Robb’s gloved hand.

“But that’s alright. He’s not a dog. It would be kind of cruel to make him into something he isn’t, wouldn’t it?”

Theon gave a noncommittal shrug. “Direwolves don’t belong in castles.”

“Greywind does.”

The pup’s tail beat happily against Theon’s lap. Theon sighed, relented, and scratched Greywind’s hind leg. “Sure, whatever you say, Stark.”


	15. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 
> 
> _Here’s my prompt: (Established Throbb and Ygritte) the 4 of them go out drinking and Theon and Jon got so wasted they ended up cuddling with each other while Robb and Ygritte giggle and take pictures for blackmail._
> 
> Your prompt is my command.

“Shh.” Ygritte lifted a finger to her lips. Lips that held a mischievous grin.

Robb was immediately worried. “What’s going on?”

“Shh,” she repeated, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him out of the booth. The woman had no boundaries. Robb wondered how she’d ended up with Jon, who was all about boundaries and walls and personal space. “You need to see this.”

Now he was really worried.

The evening had started out as a double date, with Theon and Robb offering to fill in for Sam and Gilly, who couldn’t find babysitting for the evening. A reservation for four at one of the poshest restaurants in town was not something to waste. The event: Jon’s promotion. And he’d been very free with his money, ordering wine by the bottle. Well, bottl _es_.

Jon was a lightweight, so that explained how he got drunk on two and a half glasses of wine. Theon, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Robb wasn’t even sure how much he’d had to drink, because in the early stages, Theon could be quite good at hiding his drunkenness. It was about the time he started singing sea shanties loudly enough for the entire restaurant to hear that Robb realized that the wine bottle that had been placed near Theon was now empty.

Jon was a quiet drunk and suffered quietly, swaying from side to side in his seat. Robb tried to get him to eat some bread to chase the alcohol, but Ygritte swatted his hand away. “Don’t spoil the fun, Robb Stark,” she reprimanded. “I want to see what he does.”

What he did was eventually jump up from the table, trailing the tablecloth with him, and run for the restrooms in the back of the restaurant. The plates lurched, but luckily nothing fell over, though it did cause a scene. Robb ducked his head in embarrassment as every waiter and patron there turned to look at them.

“Don’t worry.” Theon staggered to his feet. “I got this.”

“I should go get ‘im,” Ygritte said, trying to stand.

“He’ll be in the men’s room. Trust me.”

“I’ll go see if he’s alright,” Robb volunteered.

But Theon was already walking away from the booth, waving over his shoulder. “I got this. No one has prayed to the Old Porcelain Gods after a round of heavy drinking than me.”

Robb couldn’t argue with that, so he sat back down and started tidying up the table.

He’d never been alone with Ygritte much. There were always other Starks around, or Jon’s friends. He wasn’t quite sure how to read her. She was loud and often said what was on her mind, which embarrassed Jon to no end. Robb could relate. His boyfriend wasn’t much better. But Ygritte seemed to genuinely care about Jon, and for that Robb was willing to put up with any uncouth behavior she could come up with. Jon deserved to have some happiness.

And now, with this promotion, it looked like things were finally turning around for him.

He lifted his half-empty glass. Ygritte caught the movement and turned to look at him. “A toast,” he declared. “To Jon.”

She smiled wickedly and lifted her own glass, clinking it against his. Hers was almost empty. “To drunk boyfriends.” Then she tilted back her head and polished off the remaining wine. Robb settled for a sip.

“So, Ygritte…” He set his glass down. “I hear you like rock climbing.”

“Jon tell you about the time I tried to get him t’go with me?” Her smile revealed a small gap between her front teeth. “Takes one look at the rock face and collapses. Dead away. Like a little girl. No, not like a little girl. _I_ never fainted in m’life.”

“No, he never told me that,” Robb chuckled. “He told me you did indoor rock climbing.”

She pulled a face. “Must have been what he thought before I took him out t’do the real thing.”

The waiter came with their main course, pursed his eyebrows to see that half the table had apparently abandoned ship, and, with a shrug, set the plates down in front of their respective orderers, even the empty places.

Ygritte dug right in, and with a mouthful of food took up the conversation right where they’d left off. “So, you.” She paused to wave her fork at him. “Jon says you’ve been with your boyfriend for a while now.”

“Two years, officially. But I guess we’ve really been together for a long time.”

She nodded. “So? Jon says you’ve been looking for a ring.”

Robb looked up sharply. He must have had a funny expression on his face, because she laughed.

“It’s alright. I won’t tell.”

Robb stuffed a forkful of food into his mouth to keep from answering.

They chewed in silence for a few moments.

“I’ve got to piss,” Ygritte announced suddenly, standing.

Robb nearly choked. “Everyone’s jumping ship on me,” he said, looking around at the empty booth.

“I’ll knock on the men’s door and tell the boys t’get back here,” she replied with a wink.

Which led to the issue at present, her giddily coming back to the table, grabbing his wrist, and saying she needed to show him something. Robb was deeply concerned but simultaneously too terrified to offer resistance. He followed as she led the way past the kitchens and into a narrow hallway, where the sign for the restrooms pointed the proper direction. She didn’t head for the bathrooms, though. Instead, she went for the door clearly marked as an exit.

She paused, one door on the handle, the other around Robb’s wrist, and put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” she reminded him. “Don’t wake them.”

Them? Wake?

She pushed the door open onto a concrete stairway behind the restaurant. There was a single streetlamp over a double dumpster, and in its flickering lights, Robb saw what she had wanted to show him.

It seemed Jon had not made it to the men’s room, but rather emptied his stomach over the stairwell railing and into the dumpsters below. And Theon had gotten him to sit down on the top step, perhaps even suggested Jon lean his head on his shoulder? No, that didn’t sound right. Jon was probably just so drunk that he’d leaned against the nearest sturdy structure, which happened to be Theon’s shoulder. And Theon had allowed it, because he was passed out himself.

So there were the two of them, cuddled up shoulder to shoulder, Jon with his head on Theon’s shoulder, Theon with his head on Jon’s.

“Okay,” Robb agreed, “that is too precious.”

Ygritte was giggling like crazy, and Robb had to stifle his own laughter as he took his phone out of his pocket. He held his breath as the camera snapped the picture, worrying the noise might wake them, but they remained perfectly still, sleeping like little angels. Theon grunted, a half-snore, and nuzzled deeper into Jon’s hair.

“We should probably wake them,” he said with a sigh. “The food’s getting cold and we kinda need Jon to settle the bill.”

Ygritte waved him off. “In a bit. This is too good.”

They both froze as Jon’s arm suddenly shot up. Then relaxed as it wrapped around Theon’s waist and pulled him closer. Jon settled back to sleep with a contented sigh, while Theon hadn’t stirred at all.

“Alright,” Robb said. “In a little bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't been replying to comments! I've been drive-by posting and haven't had much time to reply.
> 
> Next update will be Friday.


	16. (Un)Decided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gigi said: 
> 
> _My request is: AU where Robb doesn't die at the RW and comes to Winterfell and finds Theon in total Reek mode, as Ramsay's servant, and basically Robb rescues him and kills Ramsay and decides to look after Theon and help him heal even though everyone else thinks he should be punished._

There were always tough decisions. Not a single decision since he’d undertaken this foolhardy mission—King in the North indeed—had been clear-cut or simple. Not a single decision that hadn’t come back to haunt him in some way. But this…this was easy.

Robb swung the sword. There was a thwack. Ramsay Bolton’s head rolled to the ground.

Robb handed the Valyrian steel sword to his squire to have it properly cleaned and put away, then, without a word, without a look to any of the gathered, he stepped around the mess and went inside. And that was it, the easiest decision he’d ever made.

Roose Bolton was still awaiting trial for treason and attempted assassination. There was a thread to unwind there, leading back to who had been in contact with whom, which lords and known what, and where it all lead back to. But Ramsay Bolton—Snow, Robb reminded himself, legitimized by a false king—his crimes spoke for themselves. The only mystery that man held was how deep his depravity truly went, and that was not something Robb wished to know.

Winterfell was a husk, so much rubble burned to the ground. They would weather the winter at the Dreadfort, but only out of necessity. Come spring, Robb vowed to have it all razed to the ground, to start reconstruction on Winterfell and strike all mention of “Bolton” from the history books. Let the House rot.

And though he may be wintering at the Dreadfort, he would not take its lord’s quarters, nor its bastard’s. He walked the winding steps to his chambers, the guest quarters usually reserved for visiting lords and ladies. It was here that his…pet waited for him. He hated that word, but he honestly didn’t know how else to refer to the man who had, over the course of that last few years, been his best friend, brother, and enemy.

His pet looked up at he entered. Robb didn’t like to think of him as Theon—it hurt too much, and the creature huddled in the chair in front of the fire didn’t look like Theon. But neither did Robb like to think of him as Reek. _Pet_ , he thought.

The creature tried to get up, but Robb shook his head. “Stay where you are,” he said, coming into the room and stripping off his gloves. “You’re warm there, and it is quite cold outside.” He went for the clasps of his cloak. “It has started to snow.”

“Snow,” his pet repeated.

“He’s dead.”

The creature nodded.

“I didn’t know if you would want to see the head or not.”

The creature shook his head.

Robb sighed and finished undressing from his formal attire.

“Am I…next?”

“No. I’ve already told you, I’m not going to have you executed.”

“I heard the men talking…out in the hall.”

“Men talk,” Robb said, taking the chair across from his pet. The fire was warm on his face, melting the remaining snowflakes from his hair.

“Then…what will you do with me?”

Robb ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

The creature fell silent and curled back into his blanket.

The fire crackled while Robb contemplated what he would do. Everyone had an opinion on what he _should_ do. The majority of his men advised him to put Theon Turncloak to the sword; Asha Greyjoy wrote a letter pleading—inasmuch as the Ironborn ever pled—that the Prince of the Iron Isles be returned to her care. But this creature wasn’t that man.

Robb had expected to be sickened by the sight of his former friend. On the long ride—retreat—back to the North from the Twins, licking his wounds, he almost looked forward to finally, finally striking down one of his enemies. The Freys had betrayed him; the Boltons had betrayed him; the Lannisters would have to wait until spring to be dealt with. His House deserved justice, and he had failed to deliver it as every turn. But not this time. No, Theon Greyjoy would not escape his wrath.

The man they had dragged out of the Dreadfort dungeons, however, was not Theon Greyjoy. Seeing him for the first time, Robb had not believed it. Had scolded his men for bringing him the wrong prisoner, demanded the real Theon Greyjoy be brought to him. The creature fell on his knees before Robb, forehead to the ground. “I knew you would come for me, Your Grace.”

The way he said it… _Your Grace_ …not Theon’s voice, but unmistakable nonetheless.

“Don’t call me that.” He’d ripped the crown from his head and tossed it on the ground. The cold hard metal of it clanged against the stones, and the creature before him flinched. “Get this thing out of my sight. I don’t wish to see him right now.”

He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t taken the man’s head right then and there, when he’d had as much resolve as he was ever going to have. A weakness, perhaps. In the following days, the details became clear—Bran and Rickon still alive, the burning of Winterfell at the hands of the Boltons—and yet, by then, the decision was already made. Robb realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill the creature who had once been Theon. Why? Because he _used_ to be Theon? Because he _wasn’t_ Theon anymore? Or just some sort of weakness. Gods knew, he had plenty of weakness in him.

Now, sitting in front of the fire, fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair, he studied his pet’s face. So hollow and sunken. Missing teeth. Hair shockingly white. He could still make out where Theon had once been, the way you might be able to make out a young portrait of an elderly relative. The briefest flashes of memory, of summer, of easy decisions.

A sudden urge took him, and he stood and went to stand next to the other chair. The creature seated there shrank from him, and Robb couldn’t lie to himself that it didn’t hurt. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said and placed a hand on the shockingly white hair.

“It would be easier…if you did.”

“I know.”

“I’d deserve it.”

“Maybe.”

“Then why?” The creature lifted his head, but Robb kept his hand where it was, pressing down just ever so slightly.

“Because I don’t hate you.”

“You should.”

“Don’t tell me that.” He ran his fingers through the creature’s—Reek’s—Theon’s— _pet_ ’s hair. Clean now, or as clean as it was ever going to be, but brittle. Fragile. “I’m sick of people telling me what I should do. I’m the King in the North—”

_Like it or not._

“—and I’ll do what I want—“

_Like I always have._

“—and what I want—“

_The only thing I can do right now_

“—is to keep you.”


	17. Enthralled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TheLimitDoesNotExist had this idea for a story: 
> 
> _It's a slave au where Theon is bought by the Starks as a houseslave and Robb falls head over heels in love with him. Theon feels the same but is very reluctant at first because of what he's been taught but eventually caves and they start kissing [and stuff ;)] in secret until one day Catelyn finds them and goes berserk and threatens to send Theon away because there's no way her son is going to be carrying on like this with a SLAVE but eventually Robb convinces her to allow Theon to stay._
> 
> You might consider these snippets from a longer story. 
> 
> This chapter contains some sexual content.

I

 

They brought home a boy about his age, maybe a bit older. Robb watched from the stairs, peering out from behind the railing, as the boy was led inside. He wore a servant’s collar and was dressed in a plain brown shift. He had pale skin and dark hair, and when he glanced up, Robb could see that he had blue eyes. He quickly looked away and cowered behind Robb’s father.

“I sent you to market to get food, not another mouth to feed.” Robb’s mother tapped her toe impatiently.

“We can afford him, Catelyn. And with another child on the way, I thought you could use some help around the house.”

His mother eyed his father dubiously. “So, he’s to be another of your charity cases? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Please, Catelyn. He was…” His father’s eyes found Robb on the landing. “I’ll tell you later.”

It was one of those things they didn’t want him knowing, like with Jon. Robb still wasn’t sure what the full story with Jon was, just that there had been a dispute with one of the neighbors concerning a female slave and somehow this had ended up with Robb having to tell everyone that Jon was his half-brother. Though his mother told him once, very bluntly, that Jon was not his brother and to not believe the lies people said about his father. He didn’t understand it, and he probably wouldn’t ever understand this new situation either.

“Robb,” his father called up, “why don’t you fetch Jory and have him show the new servant around?”

“I can show him around,” Robb offered.

His mother’s face soured. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that.”

“I want to.”

“He wants to,” his father repeated.

Robb smiled and came down the stairs eagerly. Only later did he think that perhaps his father had been happy to give him something to do so he could tell this deep, shameful secret to his mother. Heedless of this possibility at the moment, however, he came to a stop at the bottom stair and tried to look as friendly as possible.

“This is my son, Robb,” his father said, nudging the boy forward. “Robb, this is our new servant. His name is Theon.”

“It is my pleasure to serve,” Theon said with a deep bow, “Master Robb.”

“You don’t need to call me Master.” Robb grabbed his hand and began pulling the boy behind him as he headed for the kitchens. “Come on, I’ll show you around. You’re really going to like it at Winterfell.”

Theon gave a soft squeak of surprise as he was pulled along and followed at a slightly slower pace so that Robb had to keep yanking him to keep up.

“That’s the dining room, and this is where the servants eat. The servants don’t have to get all dressed up to eat, by the way. And this way is the kitchens…”

“Why do you use that word?”

“What word? Kitchens?” Did the boy not know what kitchens were?

“No, servant. I’m not a… You do know I’m a slave, right?”

Robb paused in the middle of the servants’ eating quarters. “Father says that’s a rude word to use.”

“Rude or not, it’s what I am.” Theon began fiddling with his collar. It kind of reminded Robb of when he’d put Greywind’s collar on for the first time. The puppy had scratched and scratched at it, but eventually he’d grown used to its presence on his neck.

“Well…what’s the difference then?”

“A servant is a person,” Theon replied with the promptness of a student reciting a lesson by rote. “A slave is a thing.”

Robb contemplated that for a moment. “I don’t think a person can be a thing,” he said at last. “I think a person is just a person.”

Theon’s teeth worried his bottom lip. “As you say, Master.”

Robb gave the boy’s hand a rough shake. “None of that. I told you, call me Robb.”

“As you say, Robb.”

 

II

 

“Sorry, Robb, I can’t. I have work to do.”

Robb huffed. “Says who?”

“Says Jory.”

“Well, I have something I want you to see, so _I_ say you have the day off.”

Theon rolled his eyes and finished stacking the dirty dishes. “It’s not for you to say. You’re not my Master. Your father is.”

Robb bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t really argue with that. “So, you’d rather do chores all day?”

Theon gave him an incredulous look over the armful of plates. “It’s not a matter of if I’d _rather_. Servants wouldn’t _rather_ anything, except serve their Masters.” Four years and he’d finally stopped referring to himself as a slave. Now if only they could do something about that “Master” business.

Robb sighed and tapped his foot in aggravation as Theon carried the dishes into the kitchen. After a moment, he followed the other boy in. The kitchen was abuzz with servants at work, as it usually was after a meal. They were used to seeing Robb tagging along after Theon, so no one really gave him any mind, except the occasional courteous nod.

“I’ll talk with Father,” Robb said, jogging to catch up with Theon. “I’ll have him tell Jory to give you the day off. He’ll do it if it’s me asking.”

Theon shook his head and set the plates on the counter for washing. “You’re going to get me in trouble. Jory will think I asked you to pull strings to get me out of work.”

“No he won’t.”

“He already thinks I’m manipulating you to get more lenient treatment.” He lowered his voice. “They all do.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Robb argued. “Who thinks that? Tell me who and I’ll set them straight.”

Theon just chuckled and shook his head. “You can order a servant to do something and he’ll do it. He has to. You can order a servant to think something—or _stop_ thinking it—but that doesn’t mean he will.” He picked up the first plate. “Even Masters have limits to their power.”

Robb took the plate out of Theon’s hand. “If I help you with your chores and we finish early, then can you come see what I have to show you?”

Theon looked confused for a moment. “ _I’m_ supposed to clean the dishes. Jory might not like it if I get help.”

“Then Jory will have to yell at me,” Robb said, “because I want to help you.”

Theon chuckled but relented. They started cleaning dishes together, though Robb suspected he was actually slowing Theon down. The older boy was constantly correcting him, sometimes re-cleaning plates Robb had already done. He was patient, however, and Robb enjoyed hearing him laugh at his efforts. It was always nice to spend time with Theon, even if it was just menial, monotonous chores.

After the dishes, they mopped the kitchen floor and scrubbed it dry. And after that they went out back to chop wood for the fire and dragged it to the woodhouse for stockpiling. And after that they cleaned out the ashes from all of Winterfell’s fireplaces, so they were both covered in soot. Robb knew his mother would pitch a fit if she saw him in such a state.

“Alright,” he announced, “you’re all done with your chores, right? Can we go now?”

“I should wash up first. I’ll get scolded for tracking ash into your room.”

Robb sighed and grabbed Theon’s wrist. “So will I, so I’ll take the scolding for both of us.” He dragged Theon up the stairs, with minimal further complaining.

When they got to his bedroom, Robb slammed and bolted the door behind them, eagerly seizing their moment of privacy. He hurried to his bookcase, where he’d hidden his treasure behind some musty old books. He’d been saving up his money to buy them for a full month, the allowance his parents gave him on a weekly basis. His mother would not approve. Hence the hiding spot. He pulled them out and hid them behind his back as he turned to Theon.

“Alright, close your eyes.”

“As you say.”

“No, I mean…it’s part of the surprise. You don’t actually _have_ to close your eyes if you don’t want.” He pulled them out from behind his back, fists still closed around each one. “But, um, you probably _should_ hold out your hands.”

Theon did.

Robb dropped the little ring into Theon’s open palm.

Theon stared at it. Then picked it up and turned it over and over between his fingers. “It’s very pretty,” he said.

“I had it made special. From the jeweler in town.” _Not using servant labor_ , which was left unsaid.

“It’s very pretty,” Theon repeated and handed it back.

“It’s yours.”

“It is?”

“I had it made for you.” Robb showed his other hand, where he’d surreptitiously slipped the other ring onto his own finger. “See? I have one of my own. They’re, um…brotherhood rings.”

“It’s nice, Robb, it really is, but I can’t accept it.” Theon tried to hand it back again. “Servants aren’t allowed to wear jewelry except for our co—”

“Wear it in private,” Robb interrupted. “When it’s only you and me. When you wear it, you don’t take orders from me. I had them made to be identical, so that when we wear them, we’re equals. Brothers.”

“Brothers,” Theon repeated.

“Put yours on now,” Robb said. “And that’s an order.”

Theon grinned and slid the ring onto his finger, then held his hand out to study it. The single bloodstone gem glinted in the light. “So…now that I’m wearing this, you can’t give me any orders?”

“Nope,” Robb said with a resolute nod. “You don’t have to do anything I say. Only what you want.”

“Only what I want, huh?” Theon came closer. “You won’t punish me when I take it off, will you?”

“Of course not.”

Theon clamped his hands on Robb’s shoulders and drew him in close. He had a strong grip. “Would it be alright to thank you? For the gift, I mean.”

Robb felt his palms become sweaty. “Of course.”

Theon pulled him close and at the same time leaned in. Their lips met for just a moment. At first, Robb thought it might have been a mistake, that Theon was aiming for his cheek or somewhere else. But no, Theon would have pulled away quickly if that were the case. And when he did finally pull away, he had an uncertain smile on his face.

The gold band of the ring rubbed against Robb’s sweaty palms. “You don’t need to do that,” he said, “just because you think it would make me happy.”

“Did it make you happy?”

“Well…yes,” Robb admitted. He’d never been kissed before. The taste of the ash from Theon’s lips still lingered. “But…you’re wearing the ring. That means you’re only supposed to do what _you_ want to do.”

“And I did,” Theon said, leaning in once again. “I did exactly what I wanted to.”

 

 

III

 

Robb liked being on the bottom. He liked having Theon on top of him and inside of him, on the few occasions where that had been involved. He liked the feeling of it, of course, but more than that, it always felt like something Theon wanted that way. Logically, he knew that wasn’t the case—he could just as easily order Theon to be on top, and the other boy wouldn’t be able to decline.

He hated that. More than he hated anything. He would _never_ order such a thing. He’d rather die first.

But when it was like this, when Theon took the initiative, when his pupils were blown wide and he was so out of his mind that he couldn’t even form words beyond a constant string of “Robb, Robb, Robb,” it was right. It was something Theon wanted for himself as well.

This was the third time they’d done it this way, though they’d been doing…this for a year or so by now. It had started about a year after their first kiss. And there had been many, many kisses in between. One day, while they were alone and wearing their rings, Theon had said he wanted to try something new. A new kind of kissing.

Robb had been reluctant at first. His mother always told him that his first time should be with his lady wife. But then again, he supposed his mother had wanted his first kiss to be with a free person, and a girl on top of that. He was breaking enough of his mother’s expectations just by being alone in a room with Theon.

In the end, he’d agreed. And when Theon’s mouth was wrapped around him, he didn’t give a single thought to what his mother would think. Or again, a few days later, when they’d used their hands on each other. Or the first time Theon had taken him from behind.

That first time had been awkward and a bit painful, though Robb had managed to finish with Theon’s hand on his prick. They’d gotten better at it since then, learning each other’s bodies and rhythms. Today, the stretch as Theon entered him was almost comforting, welcoming at least. He groaned as Theon sank all the way in. The ring on Theon’s finger bit into his shoulder where Theon gripped him.

“Robb.”

Robb nodded to show he was doing fine.

Theon kissed the nape of his neck. Robb wished he could see his face, but they’d found this way was easier, with Robb on his stomach. He loved it when Theon’s fingers tangled around his own, holding him as he began to move.

“Gods,” Robb sighed, throwing his head back.

“Too much?”

“No, not enough.” Robb wriggled his hips. “Move faster.”

“Hey now, we’re wearing the rings. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Theon pulled out at an agonizingly slow pace that had Robb grinding his teeth. “I might be persuaded if you asked nicely, though.”

“Please!” Robb cried. “Fuck me already! Fuck me hard!”

“As you say.” Theon thrust back in, just glancing that sweet spot inside as he went.

Robb arched his back, trying to get yet more of it. He opened his mouth, intending an encouraging moan. But instead, a startled gasp came out. Theon’s movements stopped, and in that instant, Robb realized the gasp hadn’t come from him, but from whoever had walked in on them.

The door! Had he forgotten to lock the door? He’d never forgotten before and now…

“Get off of him!”

Theon was off of him—out of him—within a moment, and the two of them scrambled to cover themselves as Robb’s mother came at them, face as red as her hair. She grabbed Theon’s arm and yanked him off the bed, pulling reams of bed sheet with him.

“I knew you were trouble since the day Ned brought you home,” she muttered. “All these years, we’ve fed you and clothed you and treated you far better than that deviant my husband rescued you from would have treated you. And now I find out you’re a deviant yourself. Ruining my boy!”

“Mother!” Robb tried to follow after her, clutching a pillow to protect his modesty. It was the only thing handy at the moment.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “It’s quite clear he’s forced himself onto you.”

“No, he—”

“Or otherwise seduced you. To think, all these years, I was worried about Sansa, when right under my nose… _right_ under my nose…”

She released Theon’s arm, as if disgusted to have touched him at all. He crumpled and hid his face in the crook of his arm. Robb wished he would say something, stand up for himself. But, of course, he couldn’t. Servants weren’t allowed any back biting. Robb would need to do it for him.

“Mother.” He grabbed hold of her wrists and forced her to look at him. She had tears streaming down her face. “Theon didn’t force himself on me. We’ve been…we’ve been doing this for a while now. I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

“Wouldn’t _approve_?” she barked, smiling incredulously.

“I…everything we did, I _ordered_ him to do.”

Theon looked up at that.

“ _I_ forced myself on _him_ , see? _I’m_ the deviant. If you’re going to punish anyone, punish me.”

“No.” Theon clamored to his feet and pushed himself between Robb and his mother. “No, Mistress, it was me. It was all my fault. Punish me.”

Robb wanted to hiss at him to be quiet. Didn’t he realize that his punishment would be far more severe than anything they would mete out to Robb? A Master could do anything they wanted to their servant, but the second that servant raised their hand to that Master…

“Mother, please,” Robb tried one more time.

His mother stared at him. He could tell what she was thinking. She wanted so badly to believe that Robb had no fault in the matter, but she was a smart woman and could work out for herself what was really going on. At last, she lifted her chin and turned to Theon. “You’ll not be punished, but I won’t have you near my son anymore. In the morning, I’m sending you back to market.”

“No!” both Robb and Theon protested as one.

Her nostrils flared. “Are you arguing with me?” she demanded of Theon.

Theon dropped his head again. “No, forgive me. As you say, Mistress.”

 

IV

 

The trader arrived early in the morning. Catelyn greeted him at the front gate. “This way,” she said, leading him to the servants’ quarters. “He has been confined to his room. We have never needed to lock a slave in before.”

“Is he ill-tempered?” The trader tilted his hat, broad-brimmed to keep the sun off as he drove his carriage from town to town. “That will affect what I can pay for him.”

“It’s not a matter of payment. I want him gone.” She clenched her hands into fists. Robb would hate her for this, she knew, but it was for his own good. The slave had been a youthful dalliance, but once he was gone, her son would come around. He would soon start looking for a wife, a proper highborn lady. Once he was married, he would thank her for saving him from a foolish mistake.

The servants’ quarters were oddly silent as they entered the long corridor. She had expected to be waylaid by her son on the way here, one last-ditch effort to move her against this. It wouldn’t matter, since she was immoveable, but it surprised her that he hadn’t even tried.

When they reached Theon’s door, she paused. The lock had been broken. She turned the doorknob hesitantly. It swung open.

“Are you alright?” the trader asked in response to her bewildered face.

She ignored him and stepped into the room. Nothing seemed to be out of order, but then again, there wasn’t much to be found in a slave’s room to begin with. There was a letter folded on the nightstand however, which was odd because she could have sworn Theon didn’t know how to write. With a growing sense of dread, she unfolded it and read its contents.

“My Lady?” The trader ducked to follow her into the room. “My Lady, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I was mistaken. Your services are not needed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She tried to keep her voice level. “I apologize for misleading you and will compensate you for your time.”

The trader looked around in confusion. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Get out!” she hissed.

His eyes widened and he backed out of the room. She could hear his flat-footed boots slapping against the stones of the hallway outside.

Catelyn sighed and sat on the little cot where Theon slept. And read the letter again.

 

_Dear Mother,_

_I can’t let you do this. I’ve helped Theon escape and am now taking him to the border, where he can be free. I haven’t decided what’s going to happen once we get there. I will probably join him on the other side._

_I love him._

_I know you probably can’t accept this. You’ll probably send people after us. If you love me at all, please don’t. I will see you again, I promise. As insurance, I’ve left something very important in your care. I will come to collect them when I’ve reached my majority._

_When that day comes, I don’t want my inheritance. I don’t want Winterfell. I only want Theon. And I intend to make him a free person._

_Until then, I will be thinking of you. I love you all, but this is something I have to do._

_Robb_

 

Catelyn carefully refolded the letter and studied the two rings that had been tucked inside. Gold bands with bloodstone gems. Matching. And entwined with each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who requested. This series wouldn't exist without you.
> 
> And thank you to everyone else for reading.
> 
> <3 VagrantWriter

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are now closed.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Kraken Lamb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666655) by [Feral_Fic_Writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Fic_Writer/pseuds/Feral_Fic_Writer)




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